


Compatibility

by TenativeParameters



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Attempted Murder, Emotional Baggage, Healing, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Activities, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jeremy Blaire Being an Asshole, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Assault, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Murkoff Corporation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outlast: Whistleblower, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2019-09-13 01:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenativeParameters/pseuds/TenativeParameters
Summary: Strapped for cash, recently divorced Waylon takes an IT job at Mount Massive Asylum. The last thing he expected was to make friends in an insane asylum.Miles is more interested in how suspicious this all seems.





	1. Chapter 1

Waylon needed money, and he needed it bad. Freelance-programming wasn’t nearly as lucrative as he had imagined all those years ago, and his child support wasn’t going to pay itself. He could only mooch off of Miles for so much longer before his generosity would wear thin. 

He also hadn't pictured himself sleeping on his childhood best friend's pull-out couch for months on end without offering anything in return. He needed something steady so he could at least pay some rent, before he fucked up this relationship too. So there he sat, hunched over his computer scrolling through job postings, his screen lighting up his tired face and messy blonde hair. 

He was ridiculously underqualified to even bother applying to half of them, and the rest seemed to be minimum wage fast food jobs. He sighed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He may have no choice but to start washing dishes, if only to offer Miles a bit of money.

But something caught his eye: an IT position for some asylum that wasn’t terribly far away. As distasteful as working in a mental hospital sounded, the pay was much, much more competitive than anything else he’d seen. He gave the opening a click and read the details. The requirements were well within his capabilities, and the hours seemed very reasonable. It was almost too good to be true. 

“Mount Massive Asylum?” 

Mile's sudden voice made Waylon yelp, and spin his chair around. There stood his friend, cradling a pizza like it was a baby.

“Jesus Way, is that a job application or are you going to be a patient there?” he snorted, peering at the screen over Waylon's shoulder. 

“Don't sneak up on me like that, maybe?!”

“Can't help it, sorry. My skills can't just be turned on and off at will. I am a honed creature of the shadows.”

“You're a shitty paparazzi,” Waylon scoffed, ignoring the following offended gasp. “Look at this. It's offering enough money for me to pay you rent, and the hours aren't half bad,” he wheeled back around to properly show him the posting. 

Miles was skeptical, and squinted as he read the specifics. “They want to finger print, drug test, and make you sign multiple contracts if they offer you the job.” 

“I'd probably be seeing some sensitive information.” It only made sense, after all. His cursor hovered over the “submit application” button for a few seconds, before he clicked it. 

“Yeah, because it's a loony bin, dude. You don't even do IT, you...write...languages?”

“Yeah, that's exactly what I do,” he muttered. He could handle working at a mental hospital. After all, he wasn't really in any position to be picky. Miles sighed dramatically and wandered off, leaving Waylon to fill out the application. 

 

[u gonna come over this weekend or wat]

Waylon groggily stared at the text, regretting having opened it in the first place. This wasn't how he wanted to start his day. Now Lisa knew he'd read it, and would be expecting a reply. 

He really did want to go see the kids. It had been weeks since he'd last seen them, and the guilt was becoming too much for him to stomach.

His phone buzzed.

[cmon way, ryan keeps asking :-(]

Waylon groaned out loud, and dropped his phone back onto the couch. He had no excuse this time. He had nothing keeping him from his responsibility as a father, except for himself. 

How could he face Ryan and Marco when he was just so...pathetic? No job, no life, he was a shitty excuse for a father and he was terrified that they could see it. His worst nightmare was the boys would know what a loser their dad was. 

Just as he picked his phone back up to try to reply to Lisa, his ringer went off. 

A number he didn't recognize was calling him. He did his best to collect himself before accepting the call. 

“Hello?” he struggled to sound casual, despite the excitement building in his chest. 

“May I speak to a Mister Waylon Park?” a bored sounding woman asked. 

“This is he,” he choked out, praying he wasn't getting worked up over a telemarketer. 

“I am calling from Murkoff Corporation regarding an employment opportunity at Mount Massive Asylum. We would like to offer you an interview to discuss the particulars and see if you are a good fit to join the company,” she prattled off, sounding as if she was reading from a script. 

Waylon got up to pace, unable to stay still. This was perfect. It had already been over a week and he had given up hope on hearing anything from them. “That sounds great,” he replied to her, trying not to sound as childishly eager as he felt.

“We will expect to see you Wednesday at 10am. Do you have a pen and paper to write down the address? There is a specific entrance you will need to use. Please don't bring any weapons such as mace or a pocket knife, and we will need you to bring two forms of government issued identification…” 

Waylon rustled about for something to write with, finding an old receipt, and jotted down the information.

When the phone call ended, he slumped back into his chair, with probably the biggest smile he'd had in the past year. He gave his phone one last look before deciding he would reply to Lisa after his interview. Maybe he'd have good news. 

 

Waylon hadn't ever pictured himself sitting in the waiting room of a mental institution. He hadn't expected it to be so...normal. The lobby was slow, almost peaceful, and occasionally the overhead speaker would announce something inconsequential. 

He had been waiting forever, though. After making it past the security gate outside, he was directed to enter the lobby and inform the receptionist that he had a meeting with Doctor Trager at 10. He arrived at 9:45, and a quick glance to the ticking wall clock informed him it was now 10:20. Waylon hoped this Trager hadn't forgotten about him. 

He just about jumped out of his skin when he heard screaming. It didn't sound very close, but it was so loud. The receptionist didn't react even slightly when two orderlies burst into the room from one door, and out through another. Shortly afterwards, the screaming ceased. 

Waylon blanched. Mental hospital, right. This was probably an everyday sort of thing. He'd have to get used to it if he ended up actually working here. 

He fiddled with his thumbs for a bit longer, not having his phone to pass the time with. They had very explicitly requested he left any electronics, even his digital watch, inside his vehicle. 

Just when he made up his mind to get back up to talk to the receptionist, a man in scrubs entered the room. 

“Mister Park?” 

He didn't sound terribly excited to see Waylon, and he hoped it wasn't the person who would be interviewing him. He stood awkwardly, and followed when he was motioned for. 

They entered a room full of desks, with one or two people typing away at their computers. The man cleared a desk by shoving aside the paperwork, and ushered Waylon to sit. 

“Dr. Trager is running a bit late and has asked me to begin the interview process,” he grumbled, and Waylon held back a sigh of relief. He had a chance to ready himself before actually meeting his future employer. 

The orderly selected a paper from the pile he had shoved over, and skimmed it while speaking. 

“Do you have at least a moderate proficiency in Microsoft programs, such as Excel?” he asked, uninterested. 

Waylon laughed nervously. “I graduated with honors from Berkeley,” 

“That's nice, Mr. Park,” the orderly sighed. “How many years of IT related experience do you have?” 

Waylon balked. Technically, he didn't have any. He was a software engineer, after all. “I’ve worked as a database programmer occasionally. I usually do short term contracts. I have a copy of my resume-” In his car. He had left it behind. Shit.

A scribble was added to the paper, and more questions were fired off. Waylon could hardly believe the low standards this position required, considering the pay. 

Just as he decided he had sufficiently embarrassed himself, they were interrupted by someone snatching the paper away from his interviewer. 

“Go take a break Jimmy, I got it,” 

Jimmy did not hesitate to do exactly that, and he departed from the room rather quickly. 

“You must be Dr. Trager. I'm Waylon Park, pleased to-”

“Yeah yeah, let me take a look at this before you start talking at me,” 

Waylon grit his teeth and held back a sigh. Maybe he was better off with the disinterested orderly. While the doctor read, Waylon inspected a fleck of blood on his otherwise pristine white coat. 

“Okay, listen up kid. Looks to me like you'll do just fine here. The last IT guy was stealing office supplies and they were dragging their feet replacing him. We have a real IT department on the outside, but I'm the only one who knows what a damn modem is in this whole building apparently. I don't have the time to help Denise end a task on her computer every 20 minutes. All I need you to do is make sure everyone can use their email and you're golden. Don't steal, don't leak anything, don't try to fuck the nurses, and you get to do next to nothing for a pretty nice check. You got it, buddy?"

Waylon blinked a few times, processing. If he understood what Trager had said, this job would be a walk in the park. “I got it,” 

Trager slapped his shoulder. “That’s what I want to hear!”. He let himself be steered out of the room to begin the process of signing ridiculously long documents he wasn't really given the opportunity to read. 

As he left the building holding an ID card and an employee handbook from 1997, he couldn't stop himself from grinning ear to ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's our first chapter! Welcome to Mount Massive, Waylon. 
> 
>  
> 
> Expect a new chapter every couple of days. :) Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you telling me that you signed a contract agreeing that you and your family wouldn't sue Murkoff if you die or are maimed on the job?”

“That’s probably normal for hospitals,” Waylon snatched a piece of chicken from the bucket tucked next to Miles, and settled himself onto the other end of the couch.

“It makes me think they have something to hide. My investigative senses are tingling,”

“You should see a doctor about that,” Nothing was going to sway Waylon at this point. He figured Miles would be won over when he started collecting some rent money. 

Miles huffed, and his fingers moved across the keyboard of his laptop at light speed. “Murkoff, M-u-r-k-o-f-f?” 

“Yes,” Waylon confirmed, absently scrolling through his phone as he ate. Lisa had sent him a picture of a drawing Ryan had done, roughly spelling out 'Congratsulatins Daddy’. He smiled to himself, and saved the image.

“Why would a multi-million dollar company buy a random mental hospital in Colorado?” Miles murmured, eyes darting back and forth across his screen. 

“It's not my problem. I'm pretty sure the doctor that got me hired specifically wanted me to stay out of their business and just look after the local network,” If that wasn't made clear from the ridiculous number of contracts and non-disclosure agreements he had been made to sign, Trager's specific warnings more than covered it.

Miles looked up. “If you see anything weird going on in there, you gotta tell me,”

“'Anything weird’? In an asylum?” It would be just like Miles to try and write some story on his new job. The last thing he wanted was to get fired because of a shitty expose on Murkoff.

“I'm telling you dude, I have a feeling about this,” Miles had that look in his eyes that Waylon knew all too well. He wasn't going to convince him of anything, at least not tonight. 

Waylon sighed, and stole a second piece of chicken. “Fine. But don't screw this up for me,”

“'Course not,” Miles muttered, his attention fully wrapped up in whatever he was reading. Whatever. 

…

Waylon sat under his desk in the quite small IT office, unplugging and organizing the mess of cords that had been left for him by his predecessor. Clearly whoever had been in his position before him had no regard for organization, and had been content to leave everything tangled to the point of nearly being unusable. There was plenty for him to organize and sift through, and he planned on spending the day doing just that.

After a very brief tour, he had been left to his own devices in the closet of a room to make himself comfortable. It wasn't actually that bad, if a bit cramped. Down a long hallway of rarely used offices, he had a bit of privacy from the bustle of nursing stations and ringing phones of the front desk. He’d definitely worked under less favorable conditions.

He had barely an hour to himself before a knock on his open door caused him to hit his head on the bottom of the desk. 

“Hey. You’re on the clock, right?” a middle aged nurse, with salt and pepper natural hair and a smile that warned Waylon she wanted something from him, was in the doorway.

“I hope so,” he rubbed the back of his skull as he righted himself.

“I’m Darlene, you’re Waylon,” she offered her hand to him, all charm.

He took it, and tried to smile in a way that was normal. “Sounds about right. Nice to meet you, Darlene,”

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you to do something for me, before you get busy in here. There’s a computer that we just can't figure out, if you want to come see?”

Waylon sputtered out a “Yeah, sure,” as he followed her away, eager to make a good impression. Hopefully he wouldn't disappoint. She lead him back up past a nurses station, and then swiped her ID card to open a set of double doors leading to the patient area. 

He was all eyes, taking in the previously unseen environment. It seemed to be some kind of common area, with tables of various patients spattered around. Several faces looked up upon their entrance, but most ignored the change, too focused on whatever card game they were up to, or simply talking to each other. 

Darlene kept walking, and Waylon trailed behind her. The patients were all male, dressed in tan jumpsuits with the occasional sweater or t-shirt on top. He tried not to stare, but he noticed more than one individual with particularly damaged bodies. One man, who was sitting alone with his arms wrapped around himself, even had nearly half his face bandaged.

“Waylon?” Darlene called, looking over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t lost him. He picked up the pace.

They had come to a desk where a dinosaur of a PC sat, quite well worn. On the wall next to the desk hung a clipboard, depicting the time of day computer use was allowed, and what ‘level’ one must be in order to participate. Waylon eyed the names scrawled out on the chart, only to see no one had used it in at least a few months. 

“It’s the only computer that we can let the patients use,” Darlene explained, turning it on at the tower. “It doesn’t connect to the internet, but there are some programs they like. It still turns on, but this pops up instead of Windows,”

Waylon eyed the thing, nodding. “I have a few ideas,” It was completely black, with white text saying “Failure: Insert System Disk,”. 

“Do you think you can fix it? It would be really nice... I'm sure the patients would love you for it,” she wrung her hands together hopefully. 

“I'm sure I can,” Waylon already had a few ideas.

“Great! Your ID works for the doors if you need to get out, I'll see you later!” and she was gone, leaving Waylon alone in the common room full of crazy people. How fun.

With Darlene gone, more eyes flicked over to him, but nothing happened. He half expected to be fending off attackers, but that... wasn't really what mentally ill people were like, was it? Waylon shook his head and returned to the task at hand. 

The computer was whirring away, despite nothing actually happening. Not exactly a good sign, but there were a few things he had to cross off, first. He gave everything a once over to make sure everything was plugged in correctly, and to check for any signs of damage. Nothing stood out. 

He sat at the blue plastic chair and turned the poor thing off and on again, which took a fair amount of time, only to be met with the failure screen once more. 

Looks like he'd be reformatting. He left it on for his own sake as he returned to his office. The door did indeed open for his ID when he swiped it, thankfully. Darlene was nowhere to be seen, and no one seemed to question him walking back and forth. 

The second time he entered the room, he had more patients watching him. Apparently they hadn't been expecting him to return. Waylon stuck a Murkoff supplied flash drive containing none other than Windows XP into the tower, and made himself comfortable for the wait. 

He quickly realized a reformat wasn't happening. The computer wasn't even seeing the drive. He would need to do a little bit more digging. 

Out he went again, sidling up to the nurses station. “Anyone have a screwdriver, by any chance?”

The orderly that had interviewed him was there, and he seemed to take pleasure in handing Waylon the most pathetic excuse for a multi-tool he had ever seen. It had multiple gaps where pieces had been removed, only leaving a tiny phillips and flat head. It couldn't have been longer than 3 inches, fully extended. Wonderful. 

“I checked it out in your name. Please bring it back by the end of the day, Mr. Park,”

“Right,”

Now re-entering the room for a third time in barely an hour, patients were openly staring at him. He scuttled over to his project, trying to pretend he was alone. He wasn't a fan of the audience, but could hardly blame them for being curious. 

Waylon sat on the ground, cracking open the now unplugged tower to see what he was working with. Just as he was blowing away a thick layer of dust from the inside of the case, he noticed a figure moving toward him. 

He looked up to see the bandaged man he'd noticed earlier, still hugging himself. He stopped a few feet away, and just looked at Waylon. 

He stared back, completely still and tense. Nothing happened for several moments before a second patient came over to interrupt and attempt to steer the bandaged man away.

Waylon continued to stare as the second man stuttered to the first, explaining that he needed to give “the tech” space. 

“I wanted to ask if he would-”

“If he'd scratch ya, I know! He ain't gonna, and no one else will, either,” He sounded incredibly different now, and Waylon's flight instinct was becoming more insistent by the moment.

“He looks so-”

“N-no, come on,” he successfully dragged him away, leaving Waylon to collect himself.

He did calm down relatively quickly. All the guy did was walk over to him, after all. It could have been worse. He just really didn't want to scratch anybody.

Inspired to complete his task as fast as possible, he resumed examining the inside of the PC. How old was this thing, anyways? He plucked out the hard drive to read the sticker along its side, but noticed a noise upon jostling it.

He lifted it to his ear, and gave it a shake. It rattled quietly. 

“Well, that'll do it,” he murmured to under his breath. 

...

“It's working?!” Darlene was in his doorway again, not bothering to knock this time. She was glowing, and Waylon felt immensely proud. How long had it been since someone was happy because of something he'd done?

“It was nothing. The hard drive burned out, I just took one from one of the pieces of junk that were in here and swapped them,” he smiled down at his hands. “And I'll still have to reinstall the keylogger and security system,” Trager hadn't neglected to emphasize the importance of the Murkoff provided-software. 

“You have no idea how much this is going to help them. Everyone was so bummed when it died on us. Now they'll have a little bit more of an incentive to behave!” 

“I bet. I'll have it up and ready for them before I leave today,” he just needed a break from the common room. He'd been in there for a couple of hours, and needed some time to relax. 

“You're the best, Waylon. Thank you,” she called out, before leaving him to himself again. 

As far as first days went, Waylon considered this a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waylon's first day of work, aww. This chapter was really fun to write. (I promise we'll be meeting Eddie next chapter. Things are about to get exciting!)
> 
> The third chapter will be up by Sunday night! 
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: implications of the sexual exploitation of a minor

It didn't take long for Waylon to adapt to life at the hospital. He worked comfortable hours, had a full hour lunch break, and unless Trager found something for him to do, he was pretty much left to his own devices. All he had to do was tolerate switching out his usual jeans for khakis, and going without his phone for nineish hours.

He had developed a surprisingly pleasant relationship with the rest of the staff, simply as a result of doing his job. Now instead of being ignored when the other employees walked past, they would meet his eyes and smile. 

Waylon was in the middle of explaining to a very upset Denise that just because she had accidentally deleted the icon for her email application, she hadn't uninstalled the program, w hen his name was paged overhead. 

_ [Mr. Park to Media Room 4 immediately] _

That had never happened before. The overhead was rarely used, as it upset the patients more often than not. Someone must have really needed to get a hold of him. 

Waylon had an idea of where the media rooms were, tucked away in the therapy wing of the hospital. He hadn't ever gone so far away from the IT office, and he felt a bit anxious as he began the trek. 

He slipped into the common room, which wasn't nearly as intimidating as it used to be. He'd even learned the names of a few of the friendlier patients, as he had already been called in more than once (almost daily) to take a look at their computer. 

He walked with a purpose to the other end of the room, where a second set of double doors leading deeper into the hospital stood. Dennis jogged over to him, and matched his pace. 

“H-hey Waylon! Was that c-call for you?” he seemed more apprehensive than usual. 

“Something wrong?” Waylon liked this guy, even though he could be hard to follow in conversations. He had seen a growing number of images of farm animals and barns drawn with Paint and saved on the desktop that he suspected were Dennis's doing. It was strangely endearing. 

“Do you, uh,  _ h-have _ to go in there? It's 11:30…”

Waylon frowned. “Why shouldn't I?”

“Eddie’s in there right now,” Dennis said in his younger voice, insistent.

Eddie Gluskin. Waylon had seen the two of them sitting together occasionally, but he had never interacted with him. He was a bit too large and intimidating for Waylon, and had never been around the computer any of the times Waylon had been working on it. 

He eyed Dennis, silently encouraging him to explain himself. 

“Eddie doesn't like media therapy,” 

That must have been all Dennis had to say, as he stopped walking and simply watched Waylon continue. 

“What does that mean?” Waylon asked over his shoulder, not quite understanding. Dennis simply shook his head, looking very distraught. Waylon paused for a moment at the far doors, before shaking his head and swiping his ID. 

This part of the hospital was a stark contrast from what he'd come to know. Instead of the fine wooden walls and glass panels that the lobby and employee areas had, these hallways were lined with white plaster and too-bright fluorescent lights. It was much more like what Waylon had expected of a mental hospital.

_ [Waylon Park to Media Room 4  _ **_immediately_ ** _ ] _

Waylon flinched at the tone of the announcer. Whoever needed him so badly must have thought he was taking too long. He picked up the pace, doing his best not to get lost. Finally he found a nurse pushing a patient down the hallway in a wheelchair, and she kindly steered him in the right direction upon seeing him. 

…

Media room 4 was locked. Waylon tried the doorknob, and ended up almost slamming his body against the door instead of opening it. Wonderful. He backed off a bit so that he could knock, but the door swung open instead. 

Dr. Grant, a psychiatrist he had run into once or twice before, stood on the other side, squinting at Waylon from behind her glasses. “Why isn't my projector working?”

Waylon followed her in, choosing not to reply, and peered around the small room. It reminded him of a recording studio, with a separate area divided from the main room by a large glass window. The room they were in held a station full of controls, which were currently set to record whatever was going on in the other part of the room. She fervently gestured to main screen, expecting Waylon to hurry up and “ _ Fix it! That's what Trager hired you for, isn't it?” _

Within the smaller room, none other than Eddie Gluskin was seated in a chair, his head in his hands. He hadn't seemed to notice Waylon yet. It looked like Dennis was right, he did not look to be enjoying media therapy. 

“The projector is on, the computer is on, and I have the files I need open! Why isn't it displaying?” Oh boy. Waylon settled in to see what the problem was, not pleased that  _ this  _ was the reason he had been paged so urgently. 

She had the application for the projector open, and he clicked through it absently to make sure it was actually connected. 

_ Bang!  _

Waylon skidded backwards in his chair as Eddie hit the glass, dark eyes manic and chest heaving. “You! You have to help me! I know you can stop this!” 

Waylon pushed himself even further away, unable to break eye contact as he banged his hands against the glass. Eddie must have been absolutely screaming, as his voice was easily heard through the thick glass. He felt like he'd had all the air stolen from his lungs. What in the world was going on here?

“Mr. Park, I expected that you were a professional,” Dr. Grant scolded him, completely unaffected by Eddie's outburst. “Don't give him any attention, he's just trying to get a rise out of you,”

Waylon looked back and forth from the two individuals, before shakily wheeling the chair back up to the screen to find the problem. Maybe she was right. 

“I know you can stop this!’ Eddie continued to scream, desperate to get Waylon's attention again. He did his best to keep from looking back up, hands shaking as they returned to the keyboard.

He ran through his mental checklist. It was on, connected, and set up properly. The output, maybe? He flipped through the options. Eventually the projector flicked to life when he came across the right one, and a video began playing in the room on the projector screen behind Eddie. 

“No, no, no! Not again!” 

He covered his ears and shrunk away, giving Waylon a full view of what was playing. His breath caught, and he felt his blood go ice cold in his veins as he realized what he was seeing.

A little boy, and two men…

Disgust flooded Waylon, and he stood up to make for the door. 

“I think that will do it Dr. Grant. Let me know if you have any more issues,” he managed, before letting himself out. Eddie was still begging, more to himself than to Waylon. It took everything in him not to sprint on his way back to his office. 

…

Waylon hadn't been in his office long when Trager found him. He was knee deep in his storage closet, trying to keep his mind off of what he'd seen. 

“You having a good day, buddy?”

“Yep,” Waylon said, not looking up from the plastic bin of various extension cords. 

“I heard you had an adventure today, saw some personal patient data?” Trager sounded so casual, but there was an unmistakably dangerous tone under it all. 

“I just did my job. If I saw anything, it wasn't my business,” was all he could say, after a moment of deliberation.

Trager laughed, shaking his head and wiping a fake tear. “You really are alright, kid. Look, we're doctors. Dr. Grant knows what she's doing. We're trying to take care of Eddie. I don't want you worrying over things you don't have context for, alright?”

This was exactly what Waylon needed to hear. There must have been a good reason they were making Eddie watch  _ that.  _ They knew what they were doing, he just didn't have the full story. The tightness in his chest subsided a bit. 

He nodded. “I understand,”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There he is! Poor Eddie :( things will be better for him in the next chapter...
> 
> which will be updated Tuesday night.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Waylon tapped his foot as he sat in front of the patient computer, counting the number of times the cursor spun. Murkoff had launched an update to their security software, and this was his very last computer to go. 

It had been at 24% for almost 10 minutes, and he thought he was going to scream. The other desktops hadn’t taken nearly this long. As he waited he decided to go through the saved files to see if Dennis had added to his growing collection of art, or if there was anything else interesting.

Chess was the most frequently opened program, as the chess boards had been removed from the common area a few weeks back after Frank tried to swallow multiple pieces. It looked like the AI had a strong winning streak against most of its opponents. He chucked a bit to himself, and clicked back to the security update. 24%.

He stretched in his chair and scrubbed his face with his hands, before letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. It was times like these when he really missed his phone. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Park,” 

Waylon expected to see a nurse when he crooked his head to the side, but instead was greeted with the grim expression of Eddie Gluskin. He did his best not to show his alarm, and instead forced a smile.

“I would like to apologize for my behavior last time we met. I am awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I wasn’t feeling like myself,” he said, stiff and polite. The patient tugged a bit at his sleeves to his jumpsuit, trying to straighten the already perfect cuffs.

Waylon’s eyes flicked around the common room, wondering if an orderly had put him up to this. All he saw were patients minding their business, and Dennis watching them through the gaps between his fingers. 

Eddie coughed a bit, waiting for a reply.

What could he even say? Waylon opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “No worries?”

“I appreciate that. I have been feeling terrible, thinking you might have been upset as a result of my vulgar behavior,” he continued, clasping his hands together. “You have been very kind to us by ensuring this machine is working well. It has been a while since anyone has shown such care, Mr. Park,”

Waylon felt a bit warm, pleased he'd made a good impression. Any remaining concerns he had about the incident in the media room were gone. He smiled, and relaxed a bit. Eddie must have been embarrassed to have his therapy invaded by a stranger, and he wouldn't have been in Mount Massive if he didn't have some baggage. 

“I’m Waylon, you don’t have to call me that, and it’s the least I can do. Do you use it much?” he gestured to the computer. What kinds of things would he use it for? Definitely  _ something _ interesting. 

Eddie shook his head, regarding the screen with poorly disguised distaste. “I am not particularly fond of it myself, but I can appreciate the good it does for others,” 

“You don’t like it?” Waylon crooked an eyebrow. 

“I have been...institutionalized for a long time, Mr. Pa-...Waylon. Personal computers became popular long after I came to Mount Massive,” Eddie said in a low voice, as if he was letting Waylon in on an embarrassing secret.

Shame burned hot on Waylon’s face, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, uh, sorry. If you ever want me to show you how to use it...I could do that?”. He had no idea if he  _ could _ actually do that. Murkoff wasn’t paying him to teach the patients how to navigate Windows. 

Thankfully, Eddie declined. “I don’t find myself terribly interested, but thank you. You are too kind to me,”.

“Waylon? We need you for something,” 

Darlene was calling him from the doors, using her trademarked sing-song voice to say his name.

“Duty calls, I guess. Let me know if you change your mind,”. The tech stretched one last time before climbing out of the chair, and collecting his things from the desk.

Eddie casually sighed, and looked to his wrist for a watch he did not have. “Yes, if I can find the time in my busy schedule,” he drawled out.

Waylon snickered. “Pencil me in,” 

The smile faded from his face the closer he got to Darlene, who seemed much less happy up close than he had thought from a distance.  She kept silent until the doors to the common room were shut, and guided him over to the nurses station. “Are you stupid?” she finally hissed from between gritted teeth. 

He flinched at her tone, completely blindsided. “I don’t know, am I?”

“Why are you talking to  _ Gluskin _ ?” she poked his chest hard enough to make him wince. Now was he was even more confused. He had gotten the impression that Eddie was a bit scary, but he hadn’t ever heard a negative word about him, apart from Dennis warning him about the media therapy. 

“Am I missing something? I thought it was fine to talk to the patients,”

Darlene rubbed her temples and exhaled through her nose. “He  _ killed _ people, before he was sent here. The case was thrown out on a technicality, so they never actually prosecuted. I know he seems real nice, but I’ve seen him snap. Sometimes he blows up, calls everyone whores, throws shit, and we have to drug him for days before he calms down. Then he just acts like none of it ever happened,”

“Jesus,” was all Waylon could muster. 

“Exactly. Maybe you could try not to make yourself a target? Next thing I know you’ll be in there trying to play cards with Walker,”

“Which one is Walker?”

Darlene could only groan. 

…

Waylon’s first sight upon opening the apartment door that evening was a sleep-deprived Miles sitting on the ground, surrounded by various photographs of E-list celebrities. As he entered, Miles looked up at his friend with bleary eyes. 

“I’m just a shitty paparazzi,”

Waylon dropped his bag and fell onto the couch. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence lately. While Waylon was having a fine time at work, Miles was struggling to find a story to dig his teeth into. 

“Whatever happened to that thing with Roseanne Barr?” he offered, kicking his shoes off and skimming through the notifications on his phone that had collected throughout the day. 

“She left Colorado to film something,” Miles said, picking up a picture of what he thought  _ might _ have been Tom Cruise, but honestly could have been anyone. “I don’t want to trail celebrities around and wait for them to pick their noses, Way. I need something real. Something interesting! I need a scandal!”. He threw the picture back down.

Waylon paused, and looked over to him. “I’m going to regret saying this, but I think I have something interesting for you. Have you ever heard of ‘Eddie Gluskin?’ Apparently he killed some people,”

In the span of two seconds, Miles was standing over him. “Go on,”

Waylon didn’t think he’d regret it this fast.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmmmm.  
> I was really worried about the interaction between Eddie and Waylon here, so any feedback would be appreciated :')
> 
> Next update will be up by Saturday night, it's gonna be a long one.  
> Edit: it's 9:30 on Saturday night and I am still not satisfied with what I have. I will have it up tomorrow, sorry. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

There were too many vehicles in front of Mount Massive. Waylon had never seen the six large black SUVs that parked in the handicap spaces along the employee entrance before. Waylon cautiously crept into the building, wondering what exactly was going on.

The usual security guards seemed to notice his anxiety as he went through the metal detectors. One of them leaned close to whisper into his ear.

“Corporate visit today. Stay out of the way.”

Waylon nodded quickly, and made for his office immediately. Paranoia ate at him as he walked, hands stuffed in his pockets. Had someone figured out he lived with a reporter? Maybe telling Miles all those things about Eddie had been a mistake…

Well, telling him those things was definitely a mistake. But surely it hadn't caused this. He was being ridiculous. He ducked his way through the familiar path to his office, trying to go unnoticed. The rest of the staff looked to be doing the same, uncomfortable smiles plastered to their faces and worried glances being exchanged.

“Ah, and here he is! Waylon, come over here, buddy!”

Trager had spotted him. The doctor was standing with a suited man, both waiting for Waylon to join them. Somehow, Waylon knew he did not want to meet this stranger. He joined them reluctantly, and hoped Trager would do all the talking, as he often did.

“Jeremy, this is the new IT guy I'm spending your money on. Isn't he just adorable? Calls me sir sometimes, keeps quiet, and almost knows what he's doing. He even shows up on time!”

“What more could you ask for?” the suited man grinned, all teeth and charm.  

Waylon's stomach twisted. He had heard the name Jeremy before. “Good morning, Mr. Blaire.”

Blaire and Trager laughed in unison, and it was like Waylon wasn't even in their presence anymore. As they spoke about golfing the next morning, Waylon made his escape for the IT office.

He quickly opened the door, and as he made to enter and set down his things, he realized there were already people in the room. Clean cut and well dressed, they almost passed for FBI agents. They looked up at him from their respective Murkoff labeled laptops, expecting an explanation.

“Uh, this is...my office.” His heart was beating out of his chest. They must have figured out he was talking to a reporter. Were they going through his stuff to see what else he had done?

“Oh, we forgot they hired someone. We're updating the server today and need this office, sorry,” one of them said.

“We'll be gone by three or so,” the other offered returning his eyes to his work.

To be fair, it didn't look like any of his things had been touched. Waylon nodded, despite the two not even looking at him, backed out of the room.

Great. Maybe he should just go home. He ended up putting his bag under the desk at the nursing station, and sitting for a bit. This wasn't how he planned on his morning going. He sighed, and thought longingly of the Keurig he had convinced security to let him bring in a couple weeks ago, sitting in his office.

There had to be somewhere he could get coffee. He'd seen the nurses with steaming paper cups all the time. Maybe from the cafeteria? Often times he would hear the staff talking about having to get food from the cafeteria because they had forgotten to bring their own.

Only one way to find out.

…

The cafeteria lay just through the common room, on the opposite side of the doors to the therapy wing. As it was breakfast time for the patients, its doors were propped open and Jimmy stood by them, keeping an eye on who entered and left.

He didn't seem to react to Waylon when he entered, perhaps worrying too much about the corporate visit to question him. Or maybe it was completely normal, and he had no reason to be apprehensive.

It was surprisingly loud. There were patients here Waylon didn't recognize at all, sitting at tables that had nurses watching them closely. They must have been the patients that weren't stable enough to be allowed in the common room.

A man so large Waylon could hardly believe he didn't break the plastic chair he sat in had a table all to himself, while Darlene watched him from a distance. She looked up at Waylon, and gave him the smallest wave. This must have been Chris Walker. She had not been kidding when she called him a giant.

He got in the line, feeling entirely out of place. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and looked out into the tables, wondering if Eddie or Dennis were already eating. He didn't see them.

When it was his turn, the cafeteria worker gave him a sympathetic smile. “Forget to eat before you left?”

He had, but that wasn't what he was after. “I just need some caffeine, actually.”

He was rewarded with a paper cup of his own, light from whatever cream the worker had added. It would do. He made to exit as quickly as he had come in, but stopped upon hearing his name.

“Waylon!” Dennis waved eagerly for him to come over. He sat with Eddie, and a scarred man he did not recognize. Eddie was shushing Dennis, trying to stop him from getting Waylon's attention. The scarred man barely noticed Dennis's outburst, and was focusing on his food.

Waylon's tensed upon seeing Eddie, but remembered how excited Miles had been to finally have a story. He'd begged Waylon to try and talk to him more and dig up some limited information. Instead of being discouraged by the lack of information on the internet about Eddie's case, he was even more interested. “They have to be hiding  _ something,”  _ he had said.

He looked down into his coffee to collect himself, and then joined the trio.

“Morning, guys.”

“H-hi! I've never s-seen you in the cafeteria before.” Dennis had eaten all of the sausage on his tray, and was in the process of scooping all of his eggs onto the scarred man's plate.

“Good morning Waylon. Tell me you aren't skipping breakfast, it's the most important meal of the day.” Eddie was concerned for Waylon? Ah right. Even though he was a mentally healthy adult man, he still could hardly look after himself. Even a certifiably crazy person like Eddie could see it.

Waylon only snorted, and took a long sip of his coffee. “Coffee counts. There's enough milk and sugar in this to keep me going for a few days.”

Eddie shook his head in disapproval.

“Why are you in here with us? You want to watch the freakshow?” The scarred man asked, skeptical of Waylon's presence.

“Pyro!” Dennis whispered, elbowing him. Eddie also shot the man a disapproving look, but waited for Waylon to answer.

“If I wanted to watch the freakshow, I'd be out there talking to the Murkoff execs,” 

“Fuck those Murkoff guys. Everything was way better before they bought the place,” Pyro grumbled over a mouthful of powdered eggs. “It's gone to shit since then.”

“Has it?” Waylon asked, looking pointedly at Eddie.

“I wouldn't use those words, exactly,” he said, absently shifting his food about on his plate.

“Please, you've been a wreck since they switched up your meds,” Pyro continued, not noticing the way Eddie bristled at the comment. “We all have been. I hate these new doctors.”

“Dr. Grant is a fine woman, I don't know what you mean,” he stabbed a piece of sausage perhaps more aggressively than he needed to.

“Yyeah, s-shut up Pyro,” Dennis said, voice shaking even more than was standard.

Waylon's curiosity was peaked. “They switched out the doctors when they bought the place?”

“Yeah. They got rid of all of the old staff, even the security. Eddie's doc thought he'd be safe to release soon, and that was years ago. Now he's-”

“That's enough, Gregory,” Eddie snarled, dropping his plastic spoon and shoving his tray away. “You're ruining breakfast.”

“ _ S-seriously _ , shut  _ up _ ,” agreed Dennis.

Pyro rolled his eyes, and resumed finish his eggs.

Waylon had flinched hard, and eyed Darlene across to room to make sure she hadn't noticed Eddie's outburst. The last thing he needed was to be forbidden from speaking to the patients because he was a negative influence. She was distracted by Walker, who seemed to be speaking to his meal.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up a sensitive subject.”

The apology seemed to cool Eddie off a bit. “Don't apologize, I just find it distasteful to blame our doctors for our lack of progress, instead of taking responsibility for it.”

Waylon nodded. “That's a great way to look at it. I don't know if I'd feel the same in your shoes. Isn't it their job?”

“Maybe,” he smiled sadly at Waylon.

Waylon had nothing to say to that, and finished off his coffee.

…

He returned to his office that afternoon with knots in his stomach. The Murkoff guys had disappeared, leaving only his chair in the wrong spot, and a few of his things unplugged from his power strip. He quietly rearranged things the way he liked, and sat down.

What a day. Miles would be drooling when he heard about this, that was for sure. He scrolled through his emails to see if he'd gotten anything throughout the day, only to see one he'd missed yesterday from Trager.

_ [Corporate is coming tomorrow, you can stay home if you think you'll embarrass yourself. -Rick] _

He stared at the warning in disbelief for several moments, before he wheeled back from his desk. Laughter bubbled up from his chest against his will, and he couldn't stop himself.

Fuck it, he'd had a long day. He'd leave right now, since he didn't even need to be there today in the first place. He made to collect his things, but stopped when he noticed a small crinkling noise.

Attached to the bottom of his shoe was a sticky note. A username and password were scrawled onto it, just strings of numbers and letters randomly combined. His hand instinctively moved to throw it away, but he caught himself. What was it for? Could it be useful to Miles? Maybe it was nothing?

A tiny voice inside of him warned that it could be a trap, but he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. He decided to slip it into his drawer and decide what to do with it tomorrow. All he wanted to do was go home.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late, finals week kicked my ass. 
> 
> I ended up changing things up a bit to make myself happy with this. Drama is developing!
> 
> Warning: cute in next chapter, brace yourself.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

“I have to be honest with you. I don't think it's fair to run a story about Eddie. I think he's really trying to get his life together,” Waylon said, shifting in the uncomfortable booth Miles had insisted on.

They sat in the very back of some run down pizza place, with hard plastic seating and a flickering neon sign only saying “Pizza” included. According to Miles, this place was “the best”.

“Don't you chicken out on me now,” Miles waggled the slice he was currently in the process of eating in Waylon's direction, leaving droplets of grease across the table, before taking an impressive bite.

Waylon eyed his own pizza skeptically. “I'm not. I just….what are you even going to say about him?”

Miles considered the question as he chewed. “I'm waiting to get more details before I pick a direction, man. I won't make him look like some maniac that the town needs to pull out their pitchforks over,”

“Then where's your story? The scandal?”

“I have a bigger story than Eddie Gluskin,” Miles murmured casually, before stuffing his face again. Waylon scrubbed his face with his hands. He should have known this would happen.

“Murkoff?”

“I know you love them and all, since they write your checks-”

“I don't  _ love _ them, they're shady as hell,”

“Yeah yeah, that's exactly it. They can't be treating those people right, and if we can get the patients to spill the beans maybe we can set them straight,” Miles actually set his pizza down, so Waylon knew he must have been serious about this.

Waylon did agree, though. If something really was going on, he couldn't be complicit. He was kind of fond of those weirdos, and the thought of letting them suffer just for some cash made him feel sick. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Miles was surprised.

“Yeah. Let's fucking do it. If there's nothing, there's nothing, but…”

“There's totally something,” Miles finished.

…

It all made sense, now. It came to him in the middle of watching the newest security update on the patient computer. His predecessor left this computer for dead so he wouldn't have to sit in front of it and wait for the update to install every few weeks. Waylon groaned. Why did Murkoff have to send so many mandatory updates?

“Because they're hiding something,” he could imagine Miles saying.

He looked around the room, and quickly noticed Eddie playing cards with Dennis and Pyro. Poor Dennis seemed to be losing, a scowl plastered across his face. Eddie laughed as Pyro slapped cards down, further deepening Dennis's frown.

Waylon watched the exchange, feeling warm. What would he be like outside of a place like this? If he had been released, what would Eddie Gluskin be doing?

Maybe modeling, considering that  _ jaw _ and the dark eyes that seemed to go on forever.

Unfortunately, Eddie chose that moment to look up, meeting Waylon's eyes, and quirked an eyebrow as if to silently ask “Can I help you?”

Waylon's face felt like it was on fire. Embarrassed he'd been caught staring, he quickly jerked around to return to the computer screen.

The update, of course, was nowhere near finishing, and he was now feeling too anxious to sit there and do nothing. He clicked around, randomly opening programs.

He settled on chess, and decided to go ahead and start up a game against the AI. He set the difficulty to a 10 just for the hell of it, and did his best to distract himself. He was a defensive player, which usually resulted in long, dragged out games that could have been over much quicker if he'd been a little brave.

Maybe he was wrong to judge the patients on their poor scores, because he wasn't doing so well either. He was about to move his knight into a defensive position  _ just in case _ when-

“You should move that bishop to threaten their rook,” Eddie's voice was much closer than he was prepared for. He squacked a bit, making Eddie chuckle. “You scare easily,”

Waylon laughed breathlessly, and did his best to reign in his heartbeat. “It doesn't help that people keep sneaking up on me,” he scrutinized the board, and realized that Eddie was right. He had no need to move his knight, but threatening that rook would give him a great opening. He made the move, and waited for the AI to think.

Eddie watched the screen, eyes flickering from piece to piece, examining what moves were available. “They're calling your bluff, you need to-”

“Do you want to play?”

Eddie blinked, flustered at having been interrupted. “I...it has been a while since I've played chess,” he said. So, he was tempted. Waylon grinned and got up from his seat.

“Come on, sit!”

“I don't believe-”

“Please?” Waylon wasn't above a little manipulation.

Eddie gave Waylon a pained expression, and sucked in a deep breath before sinking into the chair. “Alright, you've won me over, you beast,”

Waylon snickered, and leaned over the larger man to select the mouse. “I'm such a monster for introducing you to the 21st century, you're right,”

All in all, Eddie was a fast learner. The mouse wasn't terribly difficult for him to grasp, and the familiarity of playing chess made it all that much easier for him. It took him a fair amount of time to stop right clicking instead of left, but he took to the game with ease.

“So chess is the secret talent of Eddie Gluskin?” Waylon watched Eddie carefully back the AI into a corner, all with the queen and a well placed rook.

Eddie huffed. “I have a few surprises up my sleeve,”

“Oh really?”

“It wouldn't be polite of me to brag,” he murmured with a wry grin that made Waylon's stomach flip. Upon seeing the reaction he'd earned, Eddie's grin widened, and he innocently returned back to his game. 

Waylon felt a bit winded, and his mind raced for something witty to reply with. Unfortunately, before he could come up with anything, the doors to the therapy wing opened up. A vaguely familiar man called names, instructing individuals to go to their respective appointments. Near the middle of the list was Eddie, who was being instructed to join Dr. Grant for media therapy.

He could feel the warmth disappear almost immediately from Eddie's face. “I have an appointment to catch, I'm sorry to cut our game short. You'll need to win the game for me, I suppose,” 

Waylon nodded silently as he watched Eddie get up and leave, battling the sick feeling in his gut.

…

He didn't think he'd ever be paid 18 dollars an hour to reprogram a digital thermostat, and yet there he was. Apparently it was such an annoyance in the therapy wing break room that it was decided he needed to at least give it a shot. After noticing it had simply been programed random temperatures every hour, he'd tried to show the psychiatrist who had complained, Dr. Forester, how to clear and reset the times. However, the rotund and balding man declined and suggested it was a better suited task for Waylon. Unsurprising.

He reluctantly stood in front of the small screen, pressing the same few buttons over and over again to fix the settings and clear the individual settings for each hour, and each day of the week. His hand was already cramping, and he'd only made it to 4pm on Wednesday.

Dr. Forester only watched from his seat at the break room table, while he ate his meticulously packed lunch.

“Jesus Gene, I've had enough of that little shit,” the familiar voice of Dr. Grant entered the room. Waylon did not look up.

"We have company, Megan,” Dr. Forester reminded.

“It's only Park, he's Murkoff. Trager hired him himself,” Waylon heard the door shut, and the sound of things being set on the table. He did his best to act like he hadn't heard a thing.

“Anyways,” she continued, “I am getting sick of watching those disgusting videos. You think he'd get over them eventually, but he still has his little fits,”

Waylon clenched his jaw. Is this really how  _ professionals _ spoke about their patients? The image of Eddie's desperate pleas against the glass came to mind, and he felt ashamed for some reason.

“That isn't how PTSD works,” said Dr. Forester over a mouthful of food.

“As if I don't know!”

The microwave was opened and shut and Dr. Grant's shoes tapped their way across the room, and settled next to Dr. Forester.

“We’re making valuable developments, that should be enough to hold you over,”

“I guess. Someone has to do the dirty jobs. He's fine now anyways, I gave him a little something to calm his nerves, after,” she snickered.

Waylon hurried a bit, neglecting to set the temperature at night warmer simply to continue the same pattern and get it over with as fast as possible. He didn't want to hear any more of this conversation. 

…

The trip back to his office took him past the hallway for the residential wing. He walked a bit past it, but that sick feeling in his stomach made him double back. After a moment's hesitation, he entered. This part of the hospital was even more barren than the therapy wing, and he wondered if perhaps the building's sections had been built at different times.

A few nurses walked past him on either side of a sickly looking patient, but neither of them gave him a second glance as they continued on their way. Waylon knew that patients with good enough behavior were allowed to come and go from their rooms to the common room, so he figured that traffic through this area wasn't strange to them.

After examining a few nameplates next to doors, he found what he was looking for. A room neatly labeled “Gluskin” was currently shut, suggesting someone was inside of it. There was a small window on the door, the glass reinforced to obscure the inside of the room a bit for privacy. He wasn't quite brave enough to peek inside, so he decided to knock instead.

Nothing.

He tried again, and still no reply.

Swearing under his breath, he bit his lip and forced himself to get close to the window and look to see if he was even in there.

He was, sitting on the end of his bed and sleepily leaning against the wall. He was looking in the direction of the window, maybe waiting to see who was bothering him. Red ringed eyes met Waylon's own.

Waylon knocked again, and then before he could talk himself out of it, he opened the door and stuck his head inside.

“Hey. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I'm sorry if I'm bothering you,”

“You aren't bothering me, darling,” Eddie's voice was raw and slow. He must have either been crying, screaming, or both, and definitely had been sedated sometime recently. Being called  _ darling _ was interesting, however. He chalked that up to the drugs.

“Can I come in?” Waylon really didn't want to be spotted sticking his head in a patient's room. He couldn't imagine how he'd explain that away to anyone.

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, attempting to reform the usually perfect shape of his undercut. “I don't believe…I’d make the best company at the moment,”

“That's okay,” Waylon said, giving the hallway one last glance before quickly slipping into the room and letting the door shut behind him. Eddie sighed and tugged at his uniform, clearly unhappy with his state.

The room seemed more like a cell than anything else. Padded walls, a small desk with a few papers on it, a barren side table, and flimsy mattress were all that greeted him. He couldn't imagine staying in a place like this for even a few days, much less years.

He stole the chair from the desk, and tugged it over so he could sit near Eddie. Despite how tired he looked, he was doing his best to sit up straight and proper. Waylon couldn't help the sympathy he was feeling for the other man.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“A secret?” he smiled, drowsy eyes watching Waylon as best they could.

“Yes. I don't like how this place has been treating you, Eddie,”

Eddie considered that for a moment. “Your eyes are a lovely color, did you know that?”

Waylon sighed. He still must have been high. “Thank you, but let's talk about the hospital. Do they ever do things to you that the old doctors wouldn't?”

The way he was being stared at by the large man made Waylon's skin burn. “Like what?”

“Do they...Eddie, why do they make you watch those videos?” Now was as good as ever to ask. Hopefully there was enough of those drugs left in his system to keep him calm if bringing up the subject made him react negatively.

Eddie didn't move an inch, or react in any way to the question. Eyes glazed over, he looked off at the opposite wall in silence. Waylon held his breath, awaiting some form of outburst, but there was nothing.

“You are the little boy in those videos?”

This earned a reaction. Eddie's eyes snapped back to Waylon, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes on his face. “I don't know what you mean.”

Clearly Waylon wouldn't be getting any answers out of Eddie now. When Waylon got up from his chair, the larger man also tried to lift himself from the edge of the bed, but wobbled precariously.

“Hey!” Waylon called out as he helped to steady him. With a bit of persuasion, he convinced him to lay back on the mattress. When Waylon got up again, Eddie made a reluctant noise. “Leaving so soon, darling?”

“I need you to answer my questions, Eddie,”

Eddie sighed dramatically, but still offered no commentary regarding the videos.

“I'll talk to you when you're less out of it, okay?”

After a peek into the hallway, Waylon left the protesting Eddie behind, and tried to process what he'd learned. 

...

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the /darlings/ have begun! 
> 
> So, after a bit of outlining, I'm thinking this bad boy is going to end up at around 50k? So you guys are in for a wild ride!
> 
> Happy holidays everyone, thank you for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

His morning drive into the mountains was one of his favorite things about this job. The sunrise and twisting roads gave him something pretty to distract himself from his thoughts. It gave him a chance to brace himself for the day, and the longer he worked at Mount Massive, the longer he felt he needed that time.

His phone ringing distracted him, and he silenced the radio before checking to see who was calling him at 7:30 am. Lisa. This was right around the time she'd be taking the boys to school.

“Hey, everything okay?” He answered, trying to keep himself from immediately thinking of all the things that could have gone wrong.

“Good morning! Say hi to your dad, boys.” She must have had him on speaker, because he could hear Ryan and Marco yell out their greetings to him.

“Anyways, I just remembered that I need you to watch the kids for a week, I have to go out of town for work. Can you ask off work the last week of October?”

The kids begged over her voice in the background “Please!” and “Come on, Dad!”, likely because of how little they liked staying over at their grandmother's place.

“You put me on speaker so I'd have to say yes, huh?” he laughed, knowing her game. She knew exactly how to convince him.

“Maybe. Could you stay at the house? I don't know if I want them spending that much time with Miles,” the kids immediately sounded disappointed, whining loudly and trying to convinced their mother otherwise.

“I’ll try, but that's kind of soon. I've never asked for time off so I don't know how that'll go over,” The peaks of Mount Massive had become visible through the trees, signaling his drive was almost at an end.

“You've already been there for months now. You've probably have some credit with them,”

“I’ll try,” he repeated as he pulled up to the security gate. “I have to go. You guys pay attention in school today, and don't give your teachers a hard time.”

Lisa laughed out her own goodbye as the boys reluctantly agreed.

Waylon hung up the phone, heart heavy. A week in his old home would certainly be an emotional ordeal. As much as he told himself he had moved on, he couldn't help missing his family. It had been a part of his identity for so long, he didn't know how to separate himself from it.

…

Despite having full access to his Keurig, Waylon's first task of the day was to join the patients for breakfast in the cafeteria. The previous day's interaction with Eddie left him feeling concerned for his well being, and also curious to see if he could get any answers out of him now.

He felt more comfortable going through the line to get his mediocre coffee this time around. The patients and a couple orderlies shuffled around him blearily, eager for their meals and caffeine. Luckily, the worker behind the counter was the same woman he'd seen last time, and she was friendly enough. Before he'd even said anything to her, she turned around to get Waylon a cup of coffee.

After his thank yous, Waylon was back out in the seating area, hoping Dennis would spot him again. Instead of Darlene watching Walker, it was a different nurse that didn't even spare Waylon a second glance, thankfully. He didn't want her to be even more concerned about the types of patients he spent his time with. He continued scanning the patients seated, but could only spot Pyro sitting alone with his tray.

Waylon had never talked to the scarred man without Eddie or Dennis present, and did not find him to be particularly pleasant. Despite that, he had a feeling he could get some valuable answers from him if he played his cards right.

He sat across from him, setting his paper cup on the table.

The scarred man looked up from his food, mouth full of eggs. “Whr y'doing hrr?”

He wasn't too happy to see Waylon, he guessed. Waylon shrugged innocently. “I work here, you know.”

“But your boyfriend isn't here,” he grinned, waiting for a reaction. Waylon frowned, but could spot what he was doing from a mile away.

“I'm independent, I do things without him sometimes,”

Waylon half expected for him to be disappointed at the lack of negative attention, but instead he seemed terribly pleased. Gross. “But why are you bothering  _ me _ ?”

“You don't seem too bothered. Unless that's just the drugs…” he prodded, hoping to start up another rant.

Pyro caught what Waylon was doing almost immediately, also. Neither one of them was terribly smooth, it seemed.

“You're really curious about that stuff, aren't you?”

“What else is there to talk about?” Waylon took a long sip of his coffee. Had he made a mistake in sitting here? He didn't want any of the patients to tell their doctors he was snooping around.

Pyro scrutinized Waylon for a moment, a hint of something strange in his good eye. “Right. Well, I don't even know what they have me on, isn't that fucked up? I used to take a big white pill and a little green one. Those were alright. Now it's a small white pill and injections sometimes,” he picked at what was left of his breakfast.

“How is that going for you?” Waylon would have some googling to do when he got home.

“I’m itchy all the time. Weird. I wanna scratch my skin off sometimes, but it doesn't do any good” he said, matter-of-fact. He looked up suddenly, and smiled a bit at something behind Waylon.

Waylon craned his head around to greet Eddie and Dennis, walking over with their trays. “Hey there,”

Dennis sat next to Pyro quickly, as if it was some sort of race that only he was participating in. Eddie stood uncomfortably at the table, before slowly lowering himself in the free spot next to Waylon. Pyro covered his face with a hand, poorly covering a wolfish grin.  Eddie politely ignored that.

“Good morning, Waylon,” his voice was a bit more rigid than usual, like it had been during their first conversation.

“How’re you feeling?”

If Eddie wasn't tense before, he certainly was now. He gave Pyro and Dennis an uncomfortable look, but they weren't paying attention to either Waylon or Eddie. They were too busy bickering over how much of Dennis's breakfast Pyro had rights over.

Eddie leaned sideways to murmur to Waylon. “I am sorry I made you uncomfortable yesterday,”

“Nah, you're fine. I just wanted to make sure you were alright, I knew you wouldn't be yourself,” he said as nonchalantly as possible, despite the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “You didn't even do anything wrong,”

Eddie considered that, the gears turning in his mind clearly evident, before nodding to himself.  “Thank you.”

“What about...what I asked you yesterday?” Waylon glanced around the room again, making sure no one had noticed he was still sitting with the patients. The only orderlies in the cafeteria were all standing before Walker's table, obscuring his view of the large man. This was the perfect time to talk.

“I understand how my therapy can seem upsetting from your point of view. I don't mean to be rude, but surely you'd need more relevant qualifications to tell if it was appropriate or not?” Eddie twisted his plastic spoon around in his hands, not looking at Waylon at all.

"What about your old doctors? What would they have thought about this? I'm not a doctor but it seems fundamentally wrong to do this to you.”

Eddie closed his eyes, dropping the spoon in favor of massaging his temples. “I don't know.”

“We don't have to do this now, but can I come to your room to ask you some questions later?” It was his turn to lean towards the other, hoping no one would hear his request.

“Why? It's a horrible idea,” Eddie sounded a touch breathless.

Waylon shook his head. “I care.”

Eddie scoffed, and ignored Waylon in favor of looking up to see what was going on with Walker. More orderlies had flooded into the cafeteria, and circled the heavily worn plastic table that the massive man preferred to sit in.

The hospital staff spoke softly enough that their voices could not be heard where the four sat, but Walker did not match their volume. Something must have set him off, because he was growing increasingly loud. The entire cafeteria had begun to look up and see what was happening, some patients choosing to get up from their seats nearby and relocate to further tables.

As more nurses holding syringes jogged into the cafeteria, Waylon decided it was time for him to go.

“You won't tell anyone?” he wondered what Murkoff would do to him if they found out he'd broken their NDA's  _ and _ interrogated their patients.

“There's nothing to tell,” Eddie agreed, looking back from the escalating scene before them. 

Waylon felt Eddie's eyes on him, but chose not to look back as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! I decided to give the next scene it's own chapter, since this one is mostly preparing for it.
> 
> Pyro knows what's up, that little fucker. 
> 
>  
> 
> Happy New Years! See you next Monday with the update.


	8. Chapter 8

Waylon's knuckles had barely touched the door before Eddie pulled it open, ushering him in with the kind of charm a sixties housewife would have. He could only grin as he was lead inside, and the desk chair pulled out for him to sit in.

This time, the room was in perfect order. Whereas before, various papers (drawings?) had been littered atop the little desk, they were now neatly stacked upside down. The sheets on the bed were perfectly done and smoothed, and Waylon figured it must have been for him.

“I'd offer you a drink, but…” Eddie sighed, and motioned to the small space around them. “I'm afraid I make a terrible host,” He settled himself onto the edge of the bed, careful not to wrinkle the sheets unnecessarily.

Waylon couldn't help but snicker. “Considering the circumstances, I think you're just fine.” It was fitting that he was so concerned about his presentation, considering the careful way he usually presented himself. It was painfully endearing. Clearly Eddie's natural habitat was at some meticulously planned dinner party, not a mental hospital. Maybe that's what the future held for him. Pyro had said something about being released, hadn't he?

Eddie tugged at the sleeves of his jumpsuit, something Waylon had noticed to be a habit of his. “I appreciate that you understand my situation,”

“Of course. This is probably nicer than what I would have for you at home, anyway,” he joked. He could just imagine Eddie's horror at the state of Miles’ apartment. As much as he tried to clean up after his friend, that was a full time job he wasn't really up to these days. Not that he was exactly the most tidy, himself.

“I doubt that,” Eddie chuckled. “You have to tell me about yourself, we only ever talk about me,”

Waylon made a sound of disgust, and shook his head. “Not much to talk about here,”

Eddie was not so easily placated. “Don't make me beg…”

“I’m not very exciting,” he insisted again, but Eddie's patient gaze did not waver. Waylon sighed, and tried to think about what he could even say that wouldn't be a downer. “I'm a freelance programmer most of the time. I went to college in California, but moved here to settle down,”

“A  _ family _ , then?” The dreamy tone of Eddie's voice did not escape Waylon. It made sense that mundane things would seem wonderous to someone who had been in a mental institution for decades.

“That was the plan. It worked out for a bit, but we finalized the divorce just over a year ago. I did get two sons out of it. Ryan is the youngest. He's a wild child, thinks he's going to grow up to be a monster truck. He's a lot like his mom,”

Eddie chuckled through his grin, listening with rapt attention.

“Marco just started the fourth grade this year. He's more like me. We used to play old video games together with Ryan on the floor and his controller not plugged in, just pretending to play,” his stung, but he was smiling nonetheless. He'd have a whole week with them soon enough, no need to get all weepy.

“And their mother?”

“Oh, Lisa. My highschool sweetheart, only girl that thought that it wasn't boring that I liked to write software, and thought board games were better than parties. She was my best friend for a long time, but…” he struggled to word his thoughts appropriately. “There was never a spark. I thought things were good, but they weren't good enough,”

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. “Women,”

Waylon snorted, rubbing his face. “Sorry, that was probably more personal than you had in mind,”

“Oh, please,” the larger man scolded. “You sound like a very caring man. I always wanted a family, a legacy. To be the father I never had, never let anything happen to my children. Not like…” he drifted off, a grimace spoiling his expression.

“I guess things were pretty rough for you, growing up,” Waylon said softly, connecting the dots.

His face twitched, clearly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Hardly! We were a perfect little family, very ‘Leave It to Beaver’.”

That was probably one of the worst lies Waylon had ever heard, but he didn’t push any further. He had an idea of what Eddie’s early life had been already, and if he was right, he definitely didn’t want to pressure him to talk about it before he was ready. Whatever it had been, it helped to shape him into the type of person to land in Mount Massive.

“I guess I had a pretty standard childhood. Mom, older brother, dog, et cetera. Dad wasn’t around very often, and then one day he stopped coming at all,” he picked at his nails. “I just don’t want that to be me, for the boys.”

Eddie leaned forward to set his hand on Waylon’s knee, giving it a comforting squeeze. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man to abandon the people he cares about,”

“I don’t want to be,” he murmured, before catching himself. “Are you sure you’re a patient and not a doctor, Eddie? I don’t know what I’m doing, treating you like a therapist. I’m sorry,”

Eddie brought his hand back reluctantly. “I’d like to think I’m just behaving as one would towards a friend- if you feel comfortable with being my friend, that is,”

Was he nervous? Waylon grinned. “Sure,”

He was proud of himself for the smile that broke across Eddie's face. The idea that he could still make anyone look at him like that seemed impossible, but there it was. Christ, did he have to be that handsome?

“It's your turn. Can you tell me why you're here, Eddie?” he reminded. He wasn't there to chat with a friend, he had to get answers. The longer he sat around, the more time for a nurse to come in and find him relaxing with a patient.

He sighed. “Surely you've heard about that. The gossips love to tell my 'story’,”

Waylon wondered how much he should admit to knowing. “I heard you killed someone,”

“Three people.” There he was, tugging at his sleeves again and looking everywhere but Waylon's direction.

“You weren't found guilty,”

“I am guilty,”

A wave of nausea hit Waylon like a brick. He knew Eddie was a killer in theory, but he'd...well, he hadn't really believed it. Or rather, it hadn't been real until he heard the man confess it himself. “ _ Why?” _

“I was sick,” he answered, finally looking up.

What could he even say to that? He wrestled over potential questions, not wanting to upset Eddie even further, but needing answers to soothe the anxiety in his chest telling him he should leave. “How long have you been here?”

“I came to Mount Massive in 1987, but I was arrested in 1985,”

“You’ve been here for twenty-six years.”

Eddie grimaced. “I was a mess when I first arrived, hardly aware of my surroundings. Mount Massive has done so much for me in my time here. I hate to criticize this hospital after all it's done for me.”

“That's exactly it! You  _ were _ making progress, with your old doctors. None of them are here anymore, and things have been getting worse! I kno-”

“What is this about,  _ Mr. Park _ ?” Eddie stood. “Why are you here? Is this another scheme to get more secrets from me? I don't have any left!”

“I want to help you,” he reached out for Eddie's arm, but the larger man easily dodged the touch.

“That's what  _ they _ say,”

That stung. “Fuck them, Eddie. They make you watch that  _ shit  _ and call it therapy. That can't be legal, it's torture. I have to know what's happening before I can help!”

“Why do you care?”

“Someone has to. It doesn't matter what you did, you're still humans,”

The silence was palpable as Eddie processed that idea, before his frustration seemed to evaporate and leave him looking as if he'd just run a marathon. He sunk back down onto the edge of the bed. “It wasn't me.”

“In the videos?”

“No. It's my  _ father  _ and his _ brother. _ They had a collection, apparently,” he laughed bitterly. “It's important for me to see the consequences.”

“What? The consequences of what?” He was barely making sense at this point.

“I didn't tell anyone.”

“What the…” Waylon hissed under his breath. “They have you thinking that's your fault?”  

Eddie rested his head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. “I think that's enough for today. I'm not feeling very well at the moment.”

It was hardly enough for Waylon, but he agreed that Eddie needed a break.

“Are you okay?” He felt stupid, not having anything comforting to offer him. He tried again to reach out for him, and this time Eddie didn't move away. His skin was warm under Waylon's hand.  

He tilted his head up to give Waylon a tired smile. “I will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to imagine Eddie had to hold back some "darlings" here. Don't worry, he won't bother resisting for much longer! 
> 
> Coming next: cute shit, some trager, and some miles. 
> 
> Next chapter coming next Monday.... probably? Definitely by Tuesday!  
> Thank you for reading. ♥️


	9. Chapter 9

He hadn't expected Trager to say yes so easily to his time off. Waylon had been curled up in his swivel chair filtering through his emails from the previous day when he’d spotted his boss's response. All he needed to do in return was work a few odd Saturdays, and he was good to go. No problems there.

There wasn't much to look at, other than that. It had been a quiet day with little to do. He had spent a healthy amount of time in the cafeteria during breakfast, sipping coffee and trying to avoid Darlene's worried glances as she watched over Walker. She hadn't tried to warn him away from Eddie since that first time, but she did keep an eye on the two. 

Somehow, no one else had noticed (or cared) that Waylon had made a habit of spending time with a select few patients. The poor Keurig had developed a thin layer of dust from his neglect, and he was considering dumping the water out of it to keep it from getting gross. 

His breakfasts in the cafeteria were growing more and more vital to his day. It was hard to explain it away as getting information for Miles anymore. He usually spent the time chatting with Eddie, bantering with him about politics or silly things, sometimes even just sharing what they'd dreamed of. He'd made a few trips to his room,  _ intending _ to come out of the experience with more information about Murkoff. At the very least, he knew that Eddie's medication had also been switched when Murkoff bought the asylum, to the same small white pill and biweekly injections. Mostly, he’d learned that Eddie was a fan of Ella Fitzgerald, and the drawings on his desk were carefully sketched dresses he'd designed. They were beautiful. The man was nothing if not talented..

Oh, no. He was very much aware of the last time he'd behaved this way. His face stung, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. How stupid was he? Eddie was a  _ murderer. _ A murderer that had been in a mental institution for twenty-six years. 

This personal discovery was enough to get him to dust off the neglected coffee machine and stick a pod of pre-ground coffee in. He would not be one of those people who thought they were in love with some serial killer, ignoring the crimes they'd committed. Despite his friendship with Eddie, thinking about those three people he'd killed made his stomach churn and chest tighten. He didn't want to stop feeling that way, either.  

Even as he told himself that, the hot mug in his hands was not nearly as satisfying as the awful cafeteria coffee he'd grown accustomed to. Christ, what was wrong with him?

…

“You've been drawing?” 

Eddie looked up sharply from his sketch, startled by Waylon's quiet approach. The tech had been enjoying the look of calm focus that had the older man's brows furrowed and jaw carefully set. A strand of his hair had fallen across his forehead, not yet noticed. 

“Waylon. I missed you this morning.”

He held the occasionally permitted, depending on behavior, piece of charcoal over what was very clearly another one of his dress designs. This one actually had a body inside of it, however. Waylon leaned forward to get a better look of the model he'd drawn in such detail, but the paper was quickly flipped over. 

“What? I can't see?”

“It isn't anything I planned on sharing.” His back straightened even more than was normal for his usually perfect posture when Waylon sat down across from him.

“That’s a shame, I like your sketches. Was that a wedding dress?” 

“It sounds like you already saw it,” Eddie was positively squirming, and Waylon found himself really getting a kick out of it. He treasured the rare occasions when he could throw Eddie off his game. Too many times, it seemed to be the other way around.

“If I already saw it, you might as well let me get a better look.” 

“You wouldn't want to look at it again if you really had seen it the first time.” He leaned back into his chair, arms folded and face hard.  

“You doubt me? Honestly, I've been nothing but supportive.” Waylon tilted his head down so he could look through his lashes. When Eddie swore under his breath, he knew he'd won.

He reluctantly pushed the paper across the table, and gave the room a once over to make sure no one was paying attention. 

Waylon eagerly turned the paper over, pleased he'd gotten his way. He had been right about it being a wedding dress, but what he hadn't noticed was that it was a man wearing the delicately detailed gown. He squinted at the man's face, leaning forward a bit. He heard Eddie rustling a bit, but didn't look up to see the movement. 

It was  _ him.  _ Eddie had drawn him, wearing one of his dresses. 

What an idiot. Obviously there had to be a good reason he resisted showing his work off. He heard Eddie give a long sigh, and remembered his reaction was being observed. 

How was he even supposed to react to this, anyway? He had been ignoring his personal revelation towards their relationship for the past few weeks, but looking at his own body wrapped in an elegant gown made it absolutely impossible to ignore. Was he blushing? He couldn't tell. He needed to just get out of there. Then he could interpret how to feel. 

“It's great, uh, I like the...lace, and the detail,” he said as he pushed the drawing back towards the patient. He couldn't look up to see the expression on Eddie's face, and there wasn't a response to his compliment. 

He pushed back from his chair and stood, gesturing over to the therapy wing. “I have to go...uh, look at some cables,” 

“Right,” Eddie said flatly.

“So I'll see you later,” 

He did his best to block out the image of Eddie resting his head in his hands as he fled, the shame too much to bear.

...

He remembered to give Darlene a hug before he left, and had to stop himself from entering the common room one last time to warn Eddie that he'd be gone. After all, he'd been practically glued to his side for as much was appropriate, he'd probably appreciate a bit of space after the incident earlier. 

She noticed his guilty looks towards the common room, and clucked her tongue at him. “Look at you, Waylon.”

“What?” his voice was an octave higher than usual, and he cleared his throat. 

“Doesn't matter how crazy a man is if he's good looking enough?” she whispered, an evil little smile on her face. 

“ _ No,  _ I'm not even- look, I'm just-”

She covered her mouth, eyes twinkling. “What a mess. You definitely need this week off. I'll see you when you get back,” 

The air was crisp when he walked out of the double doors to the front lobby. Leaves crunched under his feet as he wandered over to the parking lot. The sound of a branch cracking made him flinch and turn around, but nothing was there. 

Only Mount Massive gazed back at him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only five weeks late and much shorter than I planned...
> 
> I have been dealing with a death in the family, so I have been completely off my game, I'm sorry. I got so many amazing comments while I was gone, and reading through them managed to get me back into the spirit! The next three chapters have already been planned and started, this is just what I had before my impromptu hiatus started. It might not be spectacular, but these next few chapters are going to be /something else/. After reevaluating my plot map, I think this might end up being quite a bit longer than I originally expected. (75k words? Is that too long? I actually have a plot in mind, I promise. I'm probably going to completely rewrite it after I finish to make it a bit more polished/improve flow)
> 
> Thank you for reading, and sorry about the wait again. Expect these next few chapters pretty quickly!


	10. Chapter 10

It was impossible to get used to having to ring his own doorbell. Buying this house had been one of the proudest moments of his life, apart from the boys, and now he stood outside of it like a stranger.

“Why are you so moody?” Miles asked, shifting the bags in his hand.

“I'm not,” Waylon hissed in return, considering just pulling his key out and unlocking the door himself. He could hear voices and movement inside.

Lisa opened the door before he needed to set his things down and dig through his pockets, thankfully. “There you are! Come in! You brought Miles? Something to tell me?” She winked playfully at the men as they shuffled past.

“I mentioned I was getting food on the way and he offered to help me bring my stuff,” Waylon sighed. The boys were yelling off in their rooms, not even having noticed the door open.

“I helped bring this shit out, I should bring it back,” Miles shrugged, dumping the contents of his arms, and wrestling the bag of burgers from Waylon. “Guess who?!” he called out into the house, making his way towards the kids as he shouldered past Lisa.

Screeches of “Uncle Miles!” could be heard up to the entrance way, and she shook her head. “Weird that you got over it before he did. We used to get along so well,”

“I distinctly remember you threatening to kill him at least four times,” Waylon snorted, adding what he'd been carrying to Miles’ pile.  

“Probably more than that,” she said. “Are you going to be okay here?” She lead him to the kitchen where her own bags were packed, ready to go.

He slid his thumb over a familiar gash on the breakfast table that he'd caused carving pumpkins at least three years ago, and did his best to smile. “I’ve been alone with the kids before, I'll survive,”

“You know that's not what I meant.”

She reached out to stop him from picking up the larger duffle bag, and held on to his arm. “Will you be okay  _ being here _ ?”

Waylon tugged his arm from her grasp a bit more forcefully than he needed to, and immediately regretted it when he saw the hurt in her eyes. “Yes, I'm sorry. I have your mom's number and if anything goes wrong she's the first person I'll call,”

“You know I'll always love you, Way.”

His jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth would break, and he hefted the bag up into his arms and went for the door. “Mmhm,”

“I know this isn't really the time, but-”

“I've been talking to someone else,” he interrupted. It was childish of him, but he wanted to show that he could in fact move on from her. Even if it was a crush on a mental hospital patient. She didn't need to know that part.

“What?” She followed closely behind him, opening the front door for him. “Like, romantically?”

“Yes, that was the implication there,” he leaned against the side of her blue CRV as she popped the trunk for him.

“With  _ who?  _ You don't have to say that just to make me think you've moved on, I believe you.” Her disbelief only made him more eager to show off his independence.

“Someone from work! Is it so unbelievable that someone other than you would be interested in me?” He had to set the bag on the ground to make space, and shift around the various junk she kept in the back of her car. “You're as bad as Miles,” he scolded.

“Don't change the subject! What's her name? What does she do? Is she pretty?” The questions were coming a million miles a minute, and he realized he might have backed himself into a corner.

“ _ His  _ name is, uh, Eddie,”

“HIS? Oh my God Waylon, I thought you just said you were bi because you thought it would impress me. I can't actually picture you with a man,”

He thumped the trunk closed and went for the front door, only to see Miles leaning against the open door frame.

“No, you turned him gay,”

“Did you know about this ‘Eddie’?” she said, giving Miles an accusing glare.

The brunette flipped his eyes from Lisa to Waylon, before nodding. “Met him, actually. Great guy, really has his life together. Upstanding citizen, honestly,”

Lisa squealed, covering her mouth. “When do  _ I  _ get to meet him? Does he know about the kids? Does he want to meet them? Oh my God, Waylon!”

“No! No, jesus. We're just  _ talking,  _ he's not meeting anyone any time soon,” Waylon pushed past Miles to enter the house, Lisa following closely, still asking questions.

Luckily the interrogation was interrupted by a small body slamming into Waylon's chest, knocking the air out of him.

“Daddy!”

He gasped a bit before reaching down to lift his attacker into the air. “Ryan!”

“Dad!”

Marco was only seconds behind his brother, wrapping himself around his father's side. He stumbled from the weight of both of the boys, before setting his youngest down so he could hug the both of them without falling over.

“You're really gonna stay here all week?” Ryan whispered from his spot against Waylon's shoulder.

Waylon's heart melted, and he felt a lump in his throat as he answered. “All week.”

…

Lisa had finally been ushered into her car with promises of discussing his new “relationship” after she returned from her trip, and the men could relax a bit.

All of the excitement must have tired Ryan out, because he took less than thirty minutes to fall asleep on the floor in front of the television. Paw Patrol droned quietly on anyways, while Marco had settled into the couch to play some game on the phone he'd been given, since he'd made all A's last spring.

He returned to the kitchen to see what Miles was up to, only to find him digging through Lisa's freezer.

“Didn't you just eat?” He should know better than to be surprised by his friend's appetite, but he couldn't help but tease.

“Didn't you just tell your ex that you're fucking a serial killer?”

Waylon sputtered, twisting around to make sure Marco hadn't heard the accusation.

“Big guy has earbuds in, little guy is out cold. Time to explain why I had to lie earlier.” He successfully materialized a gallon of ice cream, and began digging through drawers for a spoon.

“I'm not fucking  _ anyone-” _

_ “ _ I can tell,”

“Shut up, I just needed to give her a name and his was the first to come to mind.” It was only a half lie, after all.

“Oh please. I can see it now, looking back. ‘Miiiiles, you can't run a story on him, he's trying to be better, it's not right!’” He didn't bother with a bowl once he found the spoons, and instead dug straight in.

“I didn't say it like that and you know it. I don't owe you any explanations, I never asked you to lie to her,” Waylon barked. He'd had enough accusations for today. He leaned over the kitchen island onto his hands, glaring at the counter as if it could make everyone just be  _ quiet  _ for a bit.

“Dude, relax,” Miles huffed. “If you want to… 'talk to’ mental hospital patients, go ahead. I've had crazier exes than him anyways,”

Waylon shook his head, and fully rested on the counter. “He actually killed people,”

“Two women and a guy, I looked through some newspapers online,” Miles soberly confirmed. “Did he tell you why?”

After several moments of silence and the drifting sound of the TV, he looked up. “He said he was sick,”

“Is...he still sick?” The ice cream sat neglected on the counter next to Miles.

“Whatever he is, Murkoff is making it worse.” Of that much he was certain. He rubbed his eyes on his sleeve before straightening himself up. “We're gonna make them pay,”

“Hey Dad?”

Marco had wandered into the kitchen, and was hesitantly looking up at them.

Waylon sucked in a deep breath to collect himself, and put on his best dad face. “What's up?”

“Are you gonna move back in?”

Mile's eyes widened about as much as they possibly could, and before Waylon could muster a response, he all but ran out of the room. Waylon wished he had that luxury.

He kneeled down and waved his son closer. “We've talked about this before,” he whispered, half because he was worried his voice would break. Marco nodded, and stared at the tile.

“You're staying in the house…”

“Your mom has to go on a trip, she told you that. I'm going back after she comes home.” Watching the tears well up in his oldest child's eyes was unbearable, and he pulled him into a hug.

“I want to go live with you,” Marco whimpered, wrapping his arms tight around Waylon's neck.

“There...there isn't room with Uncle Miles,”

“That's what Mom says.”

Waylon just held him tighter, letting his own tears soak into Marco's sweater.

After several moments, Ryan burst into the room. “Uncle Miles said if I got a bowl I could have ice cream!”

Oblivious to his father and brother's tears, he immediately started tugging on their sleeves. “Please? Please get me a bowl, daddy?”

Waylon smiled blearily. “That sounds like a great idea. I want some ice cream too. How about you?” he asked Marco, who was wiping his face, already perking up at the suggestion.

“I get my own bowl, right?”

Waylon laughed, first going for the paper towels to wipe his face off. “I don't know, do you have your homework for tomorrow done?”

The responding groan more than answered his question. 

…

In the end, he decided to sleep in his- well, Lisa's bed. He had been uncertain how comfortable he'd be, but after inspecting the room a bit, he decided he'd had too long of a day to sleep on the couch, and could suck it up to actually get a decent night's sleep.

It felt more like a hotel if he was being honest with himself. He twisted a bit in the too-big bed, and wrapped the blankets around himself even tighter. The house was too quiet, too dark. The boys were long asleep, and he had dropped Miles back off much earlier.

He grasped around for his phone in the dark, groaning at the measly minutes that has passed since he'd tried to go to sleep.

He should have told Eddie he'd be gone. It wasn't a very big deal, he figured. But, the idea that Eddie might be waiting for him to dip into the common room to say hi, or glancing up at the doors to the cafeteria more than usual wouldn't stop playing through his head. Would Eddie be happy to see him when he was back? Of course he would, he-

Waylon pulled his pillow over his own head. It would be a long week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Waylon. :( Let me just go double check to make sure I have angst as a tag, haha...
> 
> Thank you for the nice comments and reassurance, I really appreciate it! 
> 
> Next chapter will be up pretty quick because it is going to be f u n to write, haha. Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

He'd been at work for less than twenty minutes and already Trager had given him a laundry list of things that had gone wrong in his absence. The doctor had clapped his shoulder, passed him the list, and continued on his way. Scribbled at the top, apparently someone had managed to destroy the hospital's favorite laser printer, and he had to fix it  _ now.  _ Not after he got settled in, not after he even got to put his things in his office. Welcome back, huh?

The rest of the staff was pretty pleased to see him, although he couldn't help but wonder if it was only because they needed a favor from him. As he jogged back and forth from his office, checking to see if any of the parts that were tucked away in his closet would solve his issue, nurses and orderlies gave him pleasant waves. Even Jimmy smiled in his general direction.

As nice as the attention was, Waylon was more anxious to see Eddie. His guilt from not saying goodbye had only worsened during his week away, making it impossible to sleep. He looked like shit and he knew it. When he nearly ran into Darlene, he was genuinely surprised when she didn't comment on the bags under his eyes.

After successfully reviving the printer and waiting for the queue to print, Waylon was left with about two dozen forms that needed to be returned to the user that had printed them. A check revealed that to be Dr. Forester. Knowing him, he'd be personally offended if Waylon neglected to bring him the _very important_ documents straight away, so his idea of crossing a few things off of his list before he headed over to the therapy wing was dashed.

He'd have to make it fast, then. He squished his keycard against the lock for the common room, and sped through to avoid distraction.

Something was happening with Walker, but he didn't pay too much attention to it. He was surprised that the giant man was even allowed out of his room now that breakfast had ended, but maybe they were having a hard time getting him back.

His eyes flicked from the nurses circling Walker, wondering if Eddie was around. He didn't really have the time to talk, but if he could just wave at him, maybe..

No, Pyro and Dennis were sitting without him, watching the commotion across the room. They didn't even notice him as he made his way through the room. He didn't need to unlock the door on the other side of the room, because it swung open before he could even reach for his keycard. Dr. Grant and her aide pushed past him, heels clicking as they strode over to Walker, whose voice had been steadily rising from a low grumble to a threatening boom.

Waylon was more than happy to leave the concerning noise to the professionals and resume on his way. The worsening condition of the hospital was familiar to him as he made his twists and turns through the hallways.

But instead of the usual laze of staff walking with patients or chatting, there wasn't a soul in sight. He even peered down the patient wing as he passed it, and only saw the few open doors of the patients that were out of their rooms. Strange.

He had only just rested the documents on Dr. Forester’s desk that the lights dimmed, quite suddenly.

_ [Code Grey. Lockdown. All staff, go to your designated safe zone. Please remain calm] _

The overhead crackled off as quickly as it had turned on.

Where was his “designated safe zone?” He'd never heard about anything like that before, and had absolutely no idea what to do. Waylon peeked his head outside of the office, and was struck by how dark the hallway was. He couldn't even see past the iron gate to the patient wing, which was open. No one had been there to lock the patient's rooms, or even close the gate.

He backed up into the office, and let the door shut in front of him. He didn't plan on wandering around in the dark with the patients, as much as he liked a few of them.

The glowing light of a screensaver caught his attention instead. Dr. Forester's computer was still on. Curiosity dragged him back over to the desk.

He watched the “No Signal” box as it drifted across the screen to gain some courage, and then gave the mouse a little wiggle. It wasn't logged in. He wasn't sure if he should be disappointed or relieved. If he was caught, he'd probably be fired straight away.  He should have got up, and leave the office. He wanted to, even.

His fingers found their way to the keyboard. He'd just try one thing. It wasn't likely that Dr. Forester would figure out anyone had been trying to log in, looking back at some of the brain-numbingly simple things he'd been asked to do for the  _ medical doctor. _

“password”

No.

“password1”

No.

“admin1”

The screen lit up, and he was in. He shook his head. All of the security measures Murkoff paid for were worthless if they couldn't get staff to change their password from the default.

Or to log out of their email, close applications when they weren't using them… Waylon sifted through the open programs before returning to the company email. What was he even looking for? Dr. Grant's name caught his attention, but it was only a reminder for an upcoming department meeting.

Nothing too interesting, except a familiar name. Richard Trager, asking for more information regarding “The Walrider”, and that “Jeremy needs something to tell the board or they're going to start getting impatient.” Weird. There wasn't anything else that caught his attention, except a few notes regarding patients he didn't recognize the names of.

He did his best to set everything the way he'd found it, and then logged back out. Maybe he'd have time to check Dr. Grant's office. This really was the perfect time. He gave the room a careful once-over before returning to the dark hallway.

The sound of shuffling and the faint outline of a body alerted him that he was not alone. His way was being blocked by someone, who smelled like a dumpster and copper pennies.

“Excuse me,” he muttered to the figure, stepping in its direction. He kept his voice low, not wanting to attract any attention. Hopefully this patient wouldn't recognize him, and tell someone he'd been poking around where he shouldn't be.

“Hello, Meat,”

Had...he just called Waylon meat? His stomach stopped, and his interest in Dr. Grant's office disappeared, and he immediately began to walk away. It wasn't worth it.

“Where are you going? Feed me!” The voice was outraged, and Waylon heard steps follow after him. No, no, no. This was not happening. Running was probably a bad idea, but he couldn't help himself with a mental patient coming after him in the dark.

“Feed me! Feed me!”

Waylon broke into a sprint, passing the iron gate and becoming entirely enveloped in darkness. He could sense other patients in the hallway with him, hearing whispering in between his pursuers demands to be fed. If this was the patient wing, then…

He felt along the wall as ran, counting the number of doors until boney hands grazed his side.

“Get off of me!” He shoved the patient hard, tugged open the door in front of him and ducked into the room. The door closed after him, and he leaned hard against it to keep it shut.

It shook as a body thumped against it. “No! You were mine!” He choked back a sob as he held the door, his heart beating so fast he wondered if he'd pass out.

Like a blessing, Eddie's familiar voice rung out. “She isn't interested, can't you tell?”

Heavy steps towards the door, and Eddie pulled it open so hard it pushed Waylon against the wall. “Be a gentleman!” he shouted into the hallway, where already the patient had begun to flee.

Eddie slammed the door shut, and turned towards Waylon. “You have to forgive him. He's used to whores and wouldn't know how to properly treat a woman.”

Waylon shuddered, uncertain how to react to the proximity of his friend. He was not in his right mind, that much was clear. “Eddie, it's me. Waylon,”

There was a heavy silence, before he felt a large hand touch his face, searching. He kept completely still as the calloused fingers caressed his cheek, his lower lip, and finally came to rest around his neck.

“Eddie?” There was no force behind the touch, but that wasn't any more comforting. “I left to watch my kids. I'm sorry I didn't tell you,”

The hand dropped, and he listened as Eddie returned to his bed. The springs creaked, and he assumed he had sat on it. More silence.

His adrenaline finally ran out, and Waylon slid down the wall to sit on the ground, and hide his face in his knees. 

 

…

He didn't know how long it had been since the lockdown, but it had to have been at least thirty minutes at this point.

His senses had come back to him, and he was now listening very closely to Eddie's shaky breathing. Whatever was happening with him, he definitely wasn't doing so hot. If it hadn't been for that hand on his neck, Waylon would have gotten up to check on him before now.

“Hey,” he finally mustered. This wasn't how he planned on catching up.

Eddie didn't say anything.

Groaning, Waylon righted himself, and felt along the walls for the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

He felt cool metal, and rested a knee up onto the mattress so he could reach out carefully with one hand, feeling the air.

“You only startled me, don't worry,” he was closer than Waylon thought, and sounded particularly tired. He managed to find Eddie's shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze.

“I'm sorry. Who, uh, did you know who that was?”

“Who?” Eddie was distracted by the touch, his hand coming up to lace their fingers together.

“The man that chased me. You yelled at him,”

“I shouldn't have spoken like that in front of you,” he said, more to himself. He had begun placing small kisses on the back of Waylon's hand, and made a small sound of disappointment when it was pulled away from him.

“Come on, Eddie.” He was impossible to deal with when he was like this.

“I didn't think you were coming back,”

Waylon's heart broke a tiny bit. He'd really messed up, leaving like that. What was Eddie supposed to think?

“You think I'm some kind of pervert, an invert,” he continued. “Or rather, you know. But I can change, I can…I just need to meet the right girl,”

“What are you talking about?”

“Of course you wouldn't know,” he sounded miles away.

“I don't think meeting a girl can change who you are,” he felt around in the dark again, finding both of Eddie's hands this time. “And I don't think you're a pervert, either,”

“You would if you knew what I think about doing to you, darling,” he said darkly,

Waylon was disgusted with himself for the way that made him feel, and felt briefly thankful for the lights being out. “You're going to be so embarrassed about this when you're feeling better, you know,”

Eddie let his thumb trace a pattern against the back of Waylon's hand. 

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everything is okay! What would warrant a lockdown like this? 
> 
> It's probably fine... But what was that Walrider thing? 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

“What would the staff think if we’re caught in this state?" Eddie asked into Waylon’s hair. Somehow what started out as an entirely appropriate position, sitting next to each other against the wall on Eddie’s bunk, had devolved into something a touch more intimate. Waylon had rested his head against the larger man’s shoulder and let his hands be held. With the lights off and unpleasant noises outside of the door, it was easy to forget the boundaries that were normally in place between them. 

Instead of comforting him, the physical attention only made him crave more. It had been so long since he’d been able to actually relax with someone like this, even considering the circumstances. He had been doing his best to ignore his own anxious thoughts that someone would discover them, but that was ruined now that Eddie had spoken.

“I know,” he agreed, still reluctant to move. How did Eddie end up being the sensible one? He did sound more like himself, the moment of peace must have helped him collect his thoughts. “The lights will turn back on before anyone comes looking for us,” he added, gripping on just a little more when Eddie shifted against him to move away, laughing softly at his reluctance.  

“Waylon.” Eddie successfully tugged away. The cool air was an unpleasant sting in comparison to his warmth. Already the embarrassment was creeping up in Waylon’s chest.

“If I have to get up, we should go to Dr. Grant’s office before the lockdown is over.”

“Why? It's best to stay here,” Eddie rolled his shoulders, and set to work on straightening up his uniform, even in the dark Waylon knew the sounds of sleeves being compulsively straightened and refolded.

“This is the perfect opportunity to figure out what’s going on here," Waylon climbed off of the side of the cot, one arm on the wall, and the other into the air to make sure he didn't run into anything.

Dr. Grant was clearly less concerned with hiding what she was up to than the other doctors, there had to be something worth finding in her files.

"Be a gentleman and escort me?" He added, grinning when he heard Eddie's sharp inhale and the sound of him quickly rising from the bed to join Waylon at the door. 

…

 

The state of the hallways made Waylon very glad that Eddie was generally seen as intimidating by the other patients. The pair made their way through the halls, confused patients barely visible in the dim light. No one was brave enough to confront them, so thankfully there were no interactions with any aggressive patients. He didn’t let himself hold Eddie’s arm as they walked with purpose to the familiar office, as the residual terror from his chase wasn’t enough to combat his embarrassment. 

Waylon made himself at home immediately at Dr. Grant’s desk as soon as they opened the door, slipping into the wheeled chair and cracking his fingers over the keyboard. He hoped the woman was just as negligent as Dr. Forester about changing her passwords, and got to work.

Eddie stayed at the doorway, watching the light of the monitor illuminate Waylon’s face. Their eyes met for a moment over the screen for a single moment, before Waylon quickly glanced back down at a soft noise from the computer.

“If you ever have a computer in the future,  _ please _ change your password from the default,” he said, disgusted at the simply irresponsible behavior of apparently professional psychiatrists. 

“Of course,” Eddie murmured, slowly making his way over to the all-too familiar set of chairs across from the desk. 

Initially it looked as if Dr. Grant’s computer was just as typical as Dr. Forester’s, but a large number next to the trash icon in her email proved otherwise. Instead of completely deleting her emails, she must prefer to leave them to be automatically deleted after 30 days. It was nice that the staff’s tech-illiteracy was doing him a favor for once instead of giving him grief. 

Waylon sifted through the subject lines, hoping to find something useful.  “ _ Vacation time 11/23-11/28 denied _ ”, “ _ New Article on CPTSD in Adults _ ”, “ _ Formulation change 10/23 trial results _ "... He paused. What formulation? What kind of  _ trials _ were they doing in this place? Before he went through with opening it, his eyes caught another, the familiar name drawing his full attention. “ _ Approval to increase Walrider dose for Eddie Gluskin _ ”. 

_ [Dr. Grant-  _

_ In order to keep up with our schedule with The Biàn Xíng Group, we have approved the increase of Mr. Gluskin’s weekly dosage of the Walrider from .025mg to .028mg beginning immediately. We understand your reservations about this decision, and we in no way mean to suggest that you are not more knowledgeable about the condition of Mr. Gluskin, but this is not optional. Murkoff believes the reward is more than worth the risk, and hopes you come to agree. Please keep track of any changes in behavior after the dose increase as per usual.  _

_ Thank you for your cooperation, _

_ Andrew] _

His breath hitched in his throat as the realization struck. Previously tapping fingers froze in their position against the desk.

“What is it?”

"It's what I was looking for,". He began to commit the text to memory so he could relay it to Miles. It made too much sense, looking back. When he was almost sure he had it down, the lights shuttered to life and the intercom crackled above their heads.

_ [Please remain calm and return to your rooms. The code has been resolved.] _

Waylon jolted up from the chair, scrambling to set everything the way it had been while Eddie looked on, concerned. “What did you find?” 

“I...” he started, but was saved by the sound of heavy footsteps making their way down the hallway. “I’ll tell you later. We really have to get out of here.”

....

 

Rather than looking horrified or disgusted by the news, Miles had a predatory glee in his eyes that was similar to how he had been staring down at the plate of nachos their waitress had put in front of them only minutes ago. 

“They’re fucked, you know that right? We’re gonna take them down, and neither of us is ever going to have to lift a finger ever again,” He scooped an excessive amount of sour cream onto one of the chips and stuffed it into his face. 

“After what happened, they’re locking things down. I’m…” He wasn’t going to be able to see Eddie even close to as often as he had before. Did Miles have to look so happy about this? People were being treated like lab nice and he was just happy he had a good story. "I'm worried about them."

"I know dude. That's why we're doing this.” His voice was muffled by the food in his mouth, only serving to piss Waylon off even more. 

“Is it? That’s why  _ I’m  _ doing it, anyways.”

Miles rested back against his chair and folded his arms. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. This is fucked up and I think it has to stop, even if there wasn’t money on the line. I’m sorry I don’t love random crazy people as much as you do.”

“They aren’t ‘random crazy people’, they’re my friends. And  _ they were getting better! _ ” 

“Jeez dude, relax. I tell you what, I’ll go visit your boyfriend with you in whatever legit hospital he ends up in, okay?” 

A sick, selfish feeling twisted around inside of Waylon. “I mean he isn’t taking his actual medicine, they’re doing fucked up “therapy” on him, giving him experimental drugs, and he’s still holding up. Maybe after this, he won’t even need to-” He paused. Three people were dead. He swallowed back the rest of  _ those _ words before he could say them. “Y-yeah. I’ll need you to scope it out, of course.” He risked a smile, aware he wasn’t being particularly pleasant to talk to.

“Hopefully they allow conjugal visits or whatever,” 

“We just held hands!” Waylon rubbed his face, completely abandoning the idea of eating his share of the nachos as he watched Miles lick grease from his fingers. “What if this doesn’t work out and I can’t ever see him again? They’re gonna figure out I leaked information, probably fast. They have a real IT department, once I log in with those credentials they’ll figure it out soon enough and I’ll be toast, probably a few days at most before they’ll fire me,”

“You just said they’re already locking things down. Why wait?” 

“I know. I’m not going to wait anymore. There’s nothing holding me back,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. Look who's back. Thank you all so much for the comments and feedback, I appreciate it so much. The occasional email and notification that I received kudos is probably the only thing that kept me from giving up completely. 
> 
> This next chapter was actually the last scene of this one, but it's so big and important it really needs it's own...so be ready for that in the next couple of days!
> 
> ((Just a heads up, this fic is going for a dark turn for a while!! I'm big into happy endings though so no worries there.... probably!))
> 
> Thank you again for the feedback, it really means the world to me.


	13. Chapter 13

“Thank you so much,” said Waylon, for approximately the thirtieth time as he followed Darlene down the patient wing. She had reluctantly let him “help” her pass out this afternoon’s medications to the patients that had been newly banned from the common room. After the code went so horribly, all of the patients with any history of violence were to be kept in their rooms until Mount Massive determined security was up to par once again. Unsurprisingly, this included Eddie. 

“You know they’re actually watching a few of those cameras now,” she scolded. Her hands quickly opened and closed respective bottles of pills, counting the numbers within them, tracking them carefully on her clipboard, then depositing them into small plastic cups. Were any of these pills the Walrider? The idea turned Waylon's stomach. 

“They won’t care, I just need a couple minutes. I’ll...leave him alone after that, okay? He’s...uh, dangerous.” Not that he had a choice. He had a strong feeling Mount Massive wouldn’t be letting him visit after they fired him for breaching their servers. 

“Then why do you want to go into his room so badly?” She peeked up at him. Her knowing smile made Waylon feel warm.

“I just want to tell him it isn’t his fault I can’t see him anymore. Last thing I want is for a patient to hold a grudge against me.”

Her skepticism was unmistakable. “You don’t want to break his crazy little heart. You aren’t fooling me, Park,” she snickered. “Go over there now. I’ll get you when I’m done passing everything out.”

“Take your time,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to walk instead of jog to Eddie’s door. Darlene’s laughter behind him didn’t help at all.

As rude as it felt, he silently looked into the window of Eddie’s door. The large man was at his desk, poring over a new sketch. A new dress? Despite the initial strangeness of seeing himself in women’s clothing, he was still hoping he was the model for this new design. He guessed he had some introspection to do about _ that. _

He rapped his knuckles against the door, watching him flinch and look up. The surprise immediately melted into a smile, and Waylon took that as an invitation to enter. 

“Hey there, stranger,” he said, making sure to pull the door shut behind him before speaking. 

Eddie stood from his chair immediately, but then paused. It seemed he didn’t know what to do with himself. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon. Not that I’m not glad to see you, that is…” Tension was rolling off of him in waves, and he looked as if he was having a hard time keeping himself from walking straight across the room.

“Because you thought I wouldn’t be able to, or that I wouldn’t want to?” Waylon guessed, not missing the way he flinched. 

“Perhaps a little bit of both,” Eddie confessed. 

The silence that followed was nearly unbearable. Waylon knew exactly what he wanted to say before he came into the room, and yet now his mind was blank, except for stupid things he absolutely should  _ not  _ say. 

...Actually, why shouldn’t he? If this was the last time he’d see him, he might as well get a few things off of his chest. 

“What do you think about me?” he said. He tried to seem casual as he climbed onto the edge of the neat bed, as if it didn’t make his mind race. 

Eddie didn’t move an inch, continuing to stand behind his chair and look flustered. “I-”

“Wait, don’t answer that. Let me tell you something first.” Waylon had never been particularly ashamed of his sexuality, choosing only to tell people that it involved instead of announcing it to the world or keeping it as a dirty secret. “We probably won't get to see each other for a long time after today, and I want you to know that  _ I _ like men and women. Sexually, uh, romantically, whatever. On top of that, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. A lot of people don’t. A lot has changed since you’ve been here,”

“So I've heard,” he said, hushed. His expression was unreadable.

“I know you do too- like men, that is,”

Eddie sunk back into his chair and braced his forearms against the desk, before scrutinizing the drawing he’d been working on. He let out a small, pained laugh as he lifted the paper for Waylon to see. Leaning forward a bit, he was met not with a dress design, but instead a carefully sketched rendition of himself from the previous day. He was looking over his shoulder in the dark hallway, fear represented well in his posture and expression. Eddie had also drawn him maybe a little more handsome than was accurate. “I...do. It’s something I’d been working on with my previous doctor.” His voice was strained. 

“So, what do you think about me now? Do you think I'm some dirty pervert? I don't, and I don't think I'm ever going to meet some girl that will suddenly make me stop liking men, either,"

Eddie growled under his breath. "This is a difficult subject for me, Waylon, please-"

"Yeah, I can tell! I don't want you to be ashamed of yourself, Eddie. I'm not ashamed of you. Anyone who was is an asshole,"

“It's not as simple as-"

"Maybe it is!"

"Let me speak!" 

Waylon went rigid, caught off guard. Eddie had never raised his voice at him, unless he was in one of his  _ spells _ after 'therapy'. "I'm sorry. I'm listening," he said quietly. 

Eddie got up from his chair to look out the window, likely wondering how much time he would have to share whatever was on his mind, or maybe if his outburst had garnered him any unwanted attention from the orderlies. 

"My issues concerning my...taste in partners run deeper than just societal shame. Serious events occurred throughout my life that lead me to fixate on the idea of one day becoming the perfect husband and father, and raising a perfect family. It was the only thing that inspired me as my illness worsened." He had begun to slowly pace in the confined area, wringing his hands. 

"I get it," Waylon said.

"You don't. I took  _ lives _ , because I couldn't-". He sighed and massaged his temples. "I thought it was their fault. They couldn't have been good enough, or else I wasn't. They must have  _ known _ and were mocking me somehow, they knew I couldn't ever be the man I wanted to be," he said through gritted teeth.

Waylon couldn't imagine. "Do... you still think that?"

"Goodness no, no. I was in a flurry of psychosis that had been building up for years. It happened over the span of two days, and then I was caught. I wasn't even trying to hide what I'd done, I didn't realize it was wrong, or even  _ real _ ," Eddie stopped pacing and turned to Waylon, trying to reign himself in before continuing in a careful, soft voice. "And I can't help but think I don't deserve to accept myself, not after I what I did."

"I wish you would. I accept you." Waylon stood up to approach Eddie, wanting to soothe him even despite what he'd just heard. He couldn't bear to watch him shake and not do anything about it. Eddie flinched when Waylon grew close. 

"Don't say that," he managed, voice strangled. 

Waylon stepped closer, forcing Eddie to press his back against the wall to keep any space between them.

"I want to kiss you."

The words had tumbled straight out of his mind and through his mouth, leaving both men surprised. 

"Why in the world would you want to kiss me after hearing-" Eddie sounded nearly angry, but Waylon saw the barely contained want in his eyes. 

"I'm feeling impulsive today." Waylon whispered, tangling his hands in the front of his jumpsuit and pulling. "This is probably the last time we'll see each other, after all."

"It can't be, darling," Eddie's breath was hot in his face, eyes searching his. "I don't believe it."

Waylon pulled harder, letting their lips meet. For all of his reluctance earlier, Eddie's mouth was plenty eager. After a paralyzed second of shock, he slid his hands into Waylon's hair to hold him closer.

A knock on the window sent a jolt of terror through the pair, and Waylon pushed himself away. 

Darlene opened the door, Eddie's plastic cup of medicine in her hand. "It's time, guys."

…

Even though he knew he'd be caught, he figured he might as well  _ try  _ to cover his tracks. He knew that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch wouldn't be enough to fool the world's leading supplier of biometric security, but at the very least it would buy him some time. There wasn't much else he could do, anyways. 

Getting in was the easy bit. He'd done his best to act naturally all day, and then took an early lunch break. With his office door locked and no one expecting to see him for an hour, he began his final search. 

Interpreting the data he was sifting through was proving far more difficult. God knows how he was going to sneak the flash drive he'd stolen to store his findings on out of the building. 

He had initially been pulling everything he could on the Walrider without pausing to read it, but when he'd opened a file that had been sent by the The Biàn Xíng group, he ended up reading the entire thing in dawning horror. It was full of mentions of super soldiers, hypnosis, and similarly impossible ideas that made Waylon feel like he was reading a science fiction novel.

The Walrider was absolutely an experimental drug- but not a new psychiatric treatment. Not at all. His cursor shook as he copied the files over. What had he gotten himself into?  

When his connection failed and he found himself unable to log back in, his blood ran cold. Had they found him that quickly? He yanked the flash drive out and shoved it into his shoe before stumbling out of his office. He had to leave, now.

Even though no one was looking at him, he felt eyes glued to his back as he tried to remember how to walk. How did he normally walk? Should he smile? Was he breathing too fast, looking around too quickly? 

Time slowed down when he saw Trager leaning against the receptionist's desk, scrolling absently through his phone. 

"Hey, Buddy."

He hadn't even looked up. 

"Hey," Waylon choked out, not slowing down. He listened closely for the sound of footsteps following after him when he walked past, but there weren't any. 

The security guard let him through, and he pushed open the doors. He was out. 

He sucked in a deep breath of the crisp fall air, and let out a manic laugh. Miles was going to shit his pants. He had to call him, right now. He'd know what the next step was. 

On his way towards the parking lot, he looked back at the hospital. Thank god he'd said goodbye to Eddie, because there was no way he was ever going back. 

He was light on his feet, trying not to think about what he'd seen and instead the hypothetical future Miles suggested. The idea of a hospital that would take care of Eddie, and maybe even let him visit, didn't seem too unreasonable now. Anything would he better than Mount Massive, he knew that. 

He was annoyed to find someone had parked far too close to his car on the driver's side. He could barely even slide between the two vehicles, much less get his door open.

He had only just begun to unwedge himself when someone blocked his way. A security guard stood, silently regarding Waylon with an expressionless stare.

"Mr. Waylon Park. Graduated cum laude from Berkeley, but still somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider's web is wiggle." 

He turned around to meet eyes with Jeremy Blaire. 

"Stupid, Mr. Park. More than stupid, in fact, that was crazy. I'm afraid that we're going to have you committed. Mr. Park, will you willingly submit to forced confinement? Did you hear that, agent?"

Waylon's mouth went dry.

"He said 'Yes', Mr. Blaire."

"Great. Oh, and... Did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Walrider program?"

"That's what I heard, Mr. Blaire."

"That was brave, indeed, Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery and sacrifice. Maybe you could administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?"

The security guard nodded, pulling his taser from his belt. "Gladly,"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Act one, complete. Can you believe I almost had this as the last scene of the previous chapter?
> 
> This is what I've been dreading for months. Now that I've got this done, I think I'll have a much easier time. 
> 
> Waylon sure won't, though! Poor baby. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I love you guys so much.


	14. Chapter 14

“Open those eyes. You don’t have to wake up, but open your eyes,”

The world was spinning, and obeying the low voice felt impossible. Waylon dragged his eyes open to blink lazily at the two men who were propping him up in a chair. Where was he? What had happened?

When his vision started growing dark, a sharp pain across his cheek brought him back to reality. 

“What’s the matter? Somebody hit you?”

_ Had _ someone hit him? He wasn’t sure. He was tired, he wanted to go back to sleep for a little while. He tried to open his mouth to explain that to the men who were doing something to his arms, but his muscles weren’t cooperating with him, and he only managed faint garbling. 

“Take it easy,” laughed one of the men, patting his shoulder before disappearing from his vision.

“We’re really proud of you for coming to us in this hard time, Mr. Park,” the other voice whispered, too close to his ear. He could nearly feel his mouth against his skin, making his already unsettled stomach do cartwheels.

“Mmmgh?” 

“I know, it’s very hard to accept when one has a nervous breakdown. It was all too much, wasn’t it? First going home to see your old family and your wife, and then coming to work and being involved in a security incident? That’s too much for a weak man like you to handle, isn’t it Waylon?”

He  _ was  _ weak, he certainly felt like it. Was that what had happened? He had seen Lisa, he had…

“Doctor Trager told me he was so honored you felt comfortable enough to come to him and ask to be admitted as a patient, you know. It meant a lot to him that you trusted him so much. I’ll tell you a secret; you were always his favorite.”

He’d been so worried about...something...and, Trager was a good boss. He knew that. 

Light from a series of screens began to flash in front of him, and he felt compelled to watch the strange patterns. A dull panic had been growing in the back of his mind, but it didn’t quite make sense- was something wrong? 

No, he was just being silly, wasn’t he?

“We’ll get you feeling better in no time, Mr. Park. Sit tight and enjoy the show,”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super short chapter- I thought this scene would do best on its own. 
> 
> Eddie POV next chapter!!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading and any feedback, it's *so* encouraging and definitely helpful.
> 
> I'm hoping the direction I'm going with this isn't too clear- what do you think is happening? ;)


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